Blue Sky, River Red
by Idolatrous
Summary: After returning from England, Phryne agrees to a trip to the countryside to work on her complicated feelings. When a body is found on the property, she throws herself into the mystery as a distraction from her woes, but soon finds herself embroiled in a complex and deeply disturbing murder case, one that is further complicated by the arrival of an unexpected visitor ...
1. Chapter 1

_It's been a long time between stories for me. I've been tinkering with this one on and off over the last year, mainly for fun and something to do on my train trips to work. I wasn't sure if I'd post it, but have been buoyed by all the lovely reviews and messages I have received since I posted my last story. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited my stories. It really means a lot to me._

 _This one follows on from Little By Little, Day by Day but it's not necessary to read it - it should work as a stand-alone story. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The captain stood on the bridge and watched the elegantly dressed woman walk to the bow of the ship. He assumed she was seasick and was seeking fresh air, but when she appeared again in rough seas she strode to the bow on sea legs that would put an old salt to shame. She returned again and again, always to the same spot, where she would place both hands on the rail and gaze out to sea.

As the journey wore on, he started to see patterns in her visits. On Sundays, while the rest of the passengers sought absolution in the chapels down on deck D, she would be at the bow. She didn't come every day, and rarely on calm days, but when the weather turned treacherous, forcing passengers as green as the ocean to heave in their cabins, she would grip the rail with bare hands and offer herself to the elements. Never had he been so intrigued by a passenger. No, it was more than that, he was captivated. Who was she? He wanted to know more, he wanted to know why.

As captain of a busy ocean liner, he was expected to occasionally play host, but the war had left him wounded and scarred with a disposition to match so he wasn't gregarious and almost never mingled with passengers. Glimpses of personality, fragments of lives and the odd fleeting acquaintances were usually enough for him. But captivation soon became obsession, so he made an effort for her by visiting the lounge more than usual to watch her.

When he first searched for her, he moved quietly through the smoky and crowded room after dinner, his eyes seeking her out as he nodded to the gentlemen and tipped his cap at the ladies, until a distinctive laugh cut through the upper-class gabble. It was her, he was sure of it. He snaked his way through the guests to find her.

When he saw her, he stopped abruptly and gaped at the dazzling woman before him. Could this woman really be her? Leaning against the bar, cocktail in hand, she radiated charm as she laughed and flirted with a sizeable audience of covetous men. Surrounded by people, she seemed so lively, so full of life, so unlike the troubled soul who sought solitude at the bow.

After a few nights of covert observation, looking for a sign of the person he thought her to be, he finally saw it. In those seconds between smiles he detected something darker: sadness, loneliness, but mostly it looked like regret. She was seeking forgiveness, he was sure of it now, but for what and from whom? Never would he know, but love played a factor, of that he was certain. Pathetic fools, he thought to himself as he watched the men circle her, jostling each other for prime position. They were moons to her planet, needy satellites locked into orbit by her considerable allure. What chance did they have with her? He smiled knowingly. Next to none.

He turned from her for the last time to let her get on with her journey, thankful for the distraction and smug in the knowledge he still had a talent for deciphering people. He should have left it at that and moved on, but she played on his mind and he regretted not introducing himself. He hoped he would run into her on his six-week holiday with relatives in Melbourne. He didn't, but when he captained another ship back home to England, he would see her at the bow once again.

-/-

Phryne sat in the back of the cab, nervously fingering the envelope that was handed to her on the dock. She sighed heavily as she shut her eyes and leant her head back. She should feel overjoyed at being home after nine months with her parents and six weeks of ship-bound torment, but she was numbed by solemn news that was delivered by Mac, who sat in the back with her so she could fill her in on the prognosis. Phryne stared out the window, too shocked to take in every word.

"... happened yesterday ... incredibly lucky ... still in danger … complete rest ..."

"I know this is terrible news, but I am confident that everything will be fine." Mac said, touching her hand, causing Phryne to jump. "Phryne? Are you listening?"

"Sorry, yes ... well, mostly." She turned to her, she was pale and her brow was creased with worry. "Thank you, Mac," she said, giving her a small smile and a squeeze of her hand. "What would I do without you?"

Mac smiled back, "I'd hate to think. I have the rest of the day off so I can accompany you to the hospital later if you like."

"I'd like to go now."

"Right now? Don't you want to drop off your bags and freshen up first?"

"No, I want to go now. Will you come with me?"

Mac squeezed her hand understandingly. "Yes, of course."

When they arrived at the hospital, Phryne told Bert to park in the bay reserved for doctors, ignoring Mac's protests. Tucking the envelope into her purse so she could read it later in private, she opened the door and got out before Bert could open it for her. She moved slowly and without her usual poise; her legs were still unaccustomed to walking on land. Mac walked ahead so she could hold open the door for her.

The noise and pungent smell of disinfectant and ammonia jolted Phryne out of her stupor and she was suddenly acutely aware of her surroundings. She pushed through people with various injuries and illnesses, relatives waiting anxiously for news of their loved ones. She moved more purposefully now and was led up a flight of stairs and away from the bustle of admissions, thankful to leave the noise and commotion behind as she walked towards the private wing. Mac stood outside the door and nodded to Phryne, who took in a deep breath before reaching for the door knob.

She entered the room and stopped. Although she had seen many a strong person reduced to a shell of themselves after injury, as if their very being had left the now useless body to find more suitable lodgings, she was unprepared for what she saw and she became emotional. She walked quietly to the bed and sat gently on the edge, reaching for the limp hand that lay on the covers in a loose fist. She held it tightly in her own and gazed at that once proud and strong face.

"Aunt P?" she whispered, squeezing her hand, "It's Phryne, I'm home."

Her aunt's eyelids fluttered open and then widened. "Phryne dear! You're home. So pleased."

Phryne was relieved at her coherence. Her speech seemed a little slow but her diction was excellent. Her aunt wasn't one to let a little stroke get in the way of her well-rounded vowels. Phryne watched as she struggled to sit but gave up. She was tired and became frustrated and flopped her head back onto the pillow.

"Blasted body!"

Phryne raised her eyebrows. She had never heard her curse before. She leant forward to kiss her on the cheek.

Her aunt smiled. "I'm so pleased to see you, my dear," she said slowly. "How is your mother?"

"She's fine, Aunt P. More importantly, how are you?"

Her aunt waved away her question. "Just a little set-back, my dear. I want to hear all about your time away, but first, get me out of this god-forsaken place, would you? I can't bear it any longer. I am recovering quickly and can have a private nurse look after me at home."

"Aunt P, you mustn't be impatient," Phryne said gently. "You are in capable hands here. Mac tells me you were very lucky it was a mild stroke. Yes, you will recover quickly, but the risk of having a more serious one is high so they need to keep you here for a little longer. You just need some rest. I will take you home only when I am told it is safe to do so."

Mrs Stanley huffed out a sigh and rolled her eyes. "Very well, but I want you to call my maid and have her bring me my meals. I'm not eating the swill they produce here."

Phryne promised to talk to her maid and then filled her in on her sister's health and the reunion of her parents, leaving out the yelling and smashed crockery. After about forty-five minutes, her aunt's eyelids started to droop.

Phryne patted her hand. "You're tired. Get some rest now, Aunt P. I need to go home, unpack and bathe. I will visit you tomorrow morning."

After kissing her aunt on her cheek, Phryne left her room to find Mac. She eventually found her having a cigarette with Bert out the front by the car. After a quick hug goodbye, she got in the cab and blew out a breath in relief at her aunt's prognosis. Although she was desperate to go home for a bath and a nap of her own, she dreaded having to face the other major complication in her life that had caused her much sorrow and confusion these last few months. She didn't expect him to be there to greet her, but when she stood at the top of the plank and spied her small group of friends, she was disappointed he wasn't with them, despite the awkwardness it would have caused. Only when Hugh explained his absence and passed on the envelope did she allow herself to relax a little. She sighed and leant her head back. She'd bathe and then read his note with a drink. She'd had enough heartbreak for now.

It was late in the evening by the time Phryne sat in her parlour with a hammering heart. She held a whiskey in one hand and Jack's envelope in the other and stared at the wall in front of her. No matter how much she tried to distance herself from him, he still affected her deeply. She puffed out a small breath, placed her drink on the table and picked up her letter opener, slicing the envelope open with a flick of her wrist. It contained a single page that had been torn from a notebook. It was written in Hugh's neat hand, no doubt dictated to him over the telephone.

She scanned Jack's strained pleasantries until she found what she was looking for and let out the breath she was holding. He was acting in a position in Geelong and was due back in a week or so. There was no number for the station or the hotel he was staying in. He would be hard to reach, he explained, and would telephone her sometime when he returned. _Sometime._ It wasn't like Jack to be so vague, but she understood. He was avoiding her, and would contact her when he was ready. She should have been relieved, but his aloofness unfairly saddened her. She pocketed his note, downed the rest of her drink and took herself off to bed.

Two days after her arrival, Phryne was roused from her sleep by a shrill ring, which was quickly replaced by the muffled rumble of Mr Butler's telephone voice. She sat up and blinked. Still groggy from sleep, her first thoughts were of Jack. No, he wouldn't be calling. Aunt P? She quickly put on her robe and raced downstairs where she was relieved to see Mr Butler's warm smile.

He placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. "Good morning, Miss Fisher," he said brightly. "It's Doctor Macmillan for you. Tea and toast?"

She smiled at him gratefully. "Just tea for now, Mr B."

He gave her a small nod and beamed at her as he handed her the receiver.

"Mac, what's happening? How is she?"

"Good morning to you too, Phryne," Mac replied sarcastically. "Your aunt is doing well, almost back to her usual self I would say. She is demanding to go home and be tended to by a private nurse, rather than, and I quote, endure being prodded and poked by persons of questionable breeding. She is truly terrifying. We all drew straws to see who would tell her she needed to stay a day or two longer."

Phryne smiled at her aunt's antics. "Yes, that does sound like the Aunt P we all know and love. Why can't she go home? She'll be more relaxed there."

"Yes, she probably would, but she may try and get back to living her life as it was before. She needs to relax and do nothing for a while. She can go home when her blood pressure drops a bit. It's still too high. Just a day or two longer and then we'll send her home. In the meantime, she's asking for you, well demanding actually, that you come right away and bring her an edible breakfast. Her cook is unwell, apparently. Oh, make sure you tell Mr Butler to cut back on the salt."

Phryne smiled. Although she was still worried about the threat of a more lethal stroke, she had to admit she was grateful to have something to do that morning.

"Tell her I will be over as soon as possible."

-/-

Phryne entered her aunt's room and was relieved to see her sitting up and looking more like her usual self. She brightened immediately and made room for Phryne and Mr Butler's hamper on her bed. With more energy to talk now, she launched into a long-winded condemnation of insubordinate doctors, ill-mannered nurses and the cleanliness of her room, only pausing from her diatribe long enough to devour Mr Butler's fine food.

After getting most of what she had to say off her chest, she took a deep breath, looked earnestly at Phryne and paused. "Phryne, dear."

Phryne looked up at the mention of her name. "Hmm?" She half expected to be admonished for not paying attention.

"I must confess to having an ulterior motive for asking you to visit me."

Phryne smiled and patted her hand. "I know, Aunt P, Mr Butler's food."

Her aunt looked sheepish. "No, it's not that, dear."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

Phryne frowned and moved a bit closer. "What is it?"

Her aunt took a deep breath. "When one has looked death in its steely eye," she began, as if delivering a Shakespearian soliloquy, "one tends to reflect on one's life."

Phryne groaned inwardly and changed positions to get more comfortable. This could take a while.

"Apart from the loss of dear Edward and problems I have had with your cousins, I have sailed through life with few challenges. I always thought myself to be invincible, a trait I believe I passed on to you, my dear," she said, smiling and patting Phryne's hand. "I had a temporary setback after Arthur's death, may God rest his soul, but I never really imagined that I could go so soon after him."

Phryne tutted and reached for her hand. "Don't be morbid, Aunt P. You have a lot of life left in you yet."

Her aunt frowned and clicked her tongue impatiently. "Save the platitudes, Phryne. There's nothing quite like a near-death experience to increase one's awareness of one's mortality. My doctors have been alarmingly forthright and I have been forced to admit I am elderly and not in the greatest of health. Anyway, despite what you think, my dear, I am not being morbid. This incident has changed me. I now see that I have taken everything I had for granted: my social standing, my loved ones, my family ..." She paused and looked at Phryne earnestly. "You must never do that, promise me that, Phryne dear."

Phryne frowned, unsure how she felt about this outpouring of sentiment from her usually guarded aunt. She nodded.

"I am not a demonstrative person," her aunt continued, "and I am generally uncomfortable talking about how I feel, but I now know how important it is to tell your family, in any way you can ...," she looked down at her hands, her voice wavering with emotion, "that you love them."

Phryne was alarmed to see her aunt's eyes brimming with tears. She reached out to touch her, only to have her hand swatted away.

"I have regrets, most of them about my role as a mother, and," she hesitated, looking at Phryne, "as an aunt. I know I have been unsupportive of your ... vocation, I don't think it's a very ladylike pursuit, and not even my near-death experience seems to have altered that view, but I want you to know that I greatly admire you. I have always admired your bravery and tenacity, but mostly your _amour proper_. You have always been true to yourself, even when society looked down its well-powdered nose at you. As a child, you refused to conform to how others thought you should look and act, and as difficult as that was for your mother, a small part of me hoped you would never change, that you would never let society, or your father, beat the individuality out of you. I think being comfortable in one's skin, to truly be yourself is an admirable trait in very short supply."

Phryne smiled at her aunt and gave her a quick squeeze of her hand. Her aunt smiled back before continuing.

"Being stuck in this wretched place has given me time to reflect on the things in life that matter. So, I suppose what I am getting at, Phryne dear, is that once I am out of here, I would like to spend more time with my family, you in particular." She paused and swallowed. "Which brings me to the favour I want to ask of you."

Phryne sat up a little straighter, "Favour?"

"As you know, I have many commitments," her aunt said quickly, "but I have been ordered to rest. Under no circumstances am I to partake in any of my usual duties. Well, you know how much I hate being idle, so I thought I could take a short trip to visit a dear friend in the country." She paused, lost in thought. "It's her seventieth birthday. She's having a party and all our old friends from school will be there. Those still alive, that is," she added quietly. She paused again and took in a deep breath, as if to steel herself for what she had to say next. "I know you are just back home, Phryne dear," she said gently, flicking her eyes up to look at her briefly, "but I am hoping you will accompany me. It's been quite a while since I have spent time with you, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to visit Cornelia _and_ spend some time with my favourite niece."

Phryne opened her mouth but didn't know what to say. "I'm your only niece," was all she could manage.

Her aunt smiled and squeezed her hand. "A little joke, my dear. Has spending all those months with your father robbed you of your sense of humour? It wouldn't be for long," she added quickly, "just a week or so, but it would mean I could relax in the country with you and my dear friend, breathing clean air. I could even get a little exercise," she said, grimacing in disgust. "She has a lovely homestead and I am sure we will be quite comfortable. She even has a separate cottage, where you may like to stay. I know Jane is not due home for another six weeks, so the timing is perfect. What do you say? Will you accompany me to visit Cornelia?"

Phryne felt flustered. "Where does she live? When is the party? How will we get there?"

Her aunt hesitated. "Well, the party's next Saturday and I was hoping you would drive us there. She runs a sheep station on the edge of the Murray River. It's quite picturesque."

Phryne pursed her lips. "That's a very long river, Aunt P. Where exactly is the property?"

"It's in New South Wales, actually. I don't know where exactly, although I believe it's not far from Swan Hill. As the crow flies," she added quietly. "Do you know it? About half way between Moama and Mildura."

Phryne gaped at her. "But that would take a whole day to get to! Couldn't your driver take you there?"

Her aunt rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "My dear, Mr Jones can certainly drive, but he couldn't steer a conversation to save his life. I would die of tedium before we made it to the outskirts of Melbourne." Her aunt reached out to pat her hand. "You are quite missing the point, Phryne dear. Yes, I know it's a considerable imposition, especially since you have just returned home after so long away, and I'm sure you have a long list of people you would like to see, but I have missed you terribly. This is a chance to spend some time with you before I shuffle off this mortal coil. You'll be home living your glamourous life again in a week or two. Being stuck at home doing nothing will do me in, I am quite sure of it."

Phryne narrowed her eyes at her aunt's manipulation. She sat quietly and bit her lip as she considered her request. Normally the idea of a long car trip and a week in the country with her aunt would fill her with utter dread, but she had to concede that the thought of living her life again as it was before didn't thrill her either, given the issues with Jack. Unusually for her, she craved solitude, but news had spread quickly of her return and the telephone had rung almost constantly. A brief sojourn in the country would give her a legitimate excuse to decline the numerous invitations to parties and tea and allow her some time to think things through, however painful that may be. She had to admit, her aunt was right, the timing was perfect.

Mrs Stanley looked at her hopefully. "Take your time to think about it, my dear. We wouldn't leave straight away, I know you need to recover from your travels and reacquaint yourself with your friends.

Phryne looked at her aunt's worried expression. She smiled and reached forward to take her hand. "No need, Aunt P, I will do it. If you're up to it and the doctors agree, we can leave as soon as possible."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack sat on the bed surrounded by his notebook and papers with a whiskey in one hand and a document he had been putting off reading in the other. He took a deep breath, leant back against the bedhead and closed his eyes. When the dizziness started to settle, he placed his glass on the bedside table and held the document at arm's length. He blinked a couple of times as he squinted at the blurred words that seemed to move slowly across the page, eventually giving up in disgust and flicking it onto the bed where it skidded over the rest of his papers and sailed onto the floor. He followed its progress as it slid under the desk, more from boredom than a desire to retrieve it. He should have picked it up and signed it to be done with it, but he wasn't quite ready for that. He would read it in the bright light of morning.

He looked up at the ceiling, clearly making out the intricate details of the ornate ceiling rose that surrounded a light so dim it struggled to make a shadow. It was easy to blame the booze and low light on his inability to see the words clearly, but he couldn't deny it any longer. He needed spectacles. He had ignored his deteriorating eyesight these last couple of years, relying on magnifying glasses and his constables' much younger eyes. And, he had to admit, Phryne had helped too. Only after she'd gone did he realise how much younger he felt in her company. Her youthful exuberance and irrepressible energy put a smile on his face and a spring in his step, made him stand taller, lightened his mood, and strengthened the beat of his heart. But now ... well, now he felt decidedly old, and without her to distract him, he was only too aware of his worsening vision and the twinges and aches that were his constant companions.

The lumpy bed creaked and groaned under his shifting weight as he reached for his whiskey. Painful memories stopped him in his tracks and he stared at its deep amber glow under the light of the lamp. It had been a gift from her, a dozen bottles of her finest delivered by Mr Butler to the station on the day of her departure with a note she had written sometime before their kiss on the airstrip. He turned to shuffle through the pile of important papers that he always had with him until he found what he was looking for. He held it under the lamp to read it. He had no trouble reading these words; he practically knew them by heart.

 _My dearest Jack,_

 _I returned home tonight after our unhappy parting in a sombre mood, one which I have been unable to shake, despite the adventure that awaits me. I was saddened to watch you walk away, but I understand why you did,_ _it must have been quite a shock to learn I would be leaving so soon._

 _I regret not telling you about my departure earlier and want you to know it was a hastily made decision, one borne out of a desperate need to reunite my family. I know this is a poor excuse for my reticence, but if we had talked about my decision earlier it would have led to a discussion about us, one which I am not yet ready to have. I hope in my heart that you can forgive me, and although it will sadden me deeply, I will understand if you do not want to write to me. If so, I sincerely wish that in time you are able to think fondly of our time together._

 _As a reminder of the special times we have shared, I want you to have a gift,_ _one which I hope you will not think is in poor taste._ _I am very aware of the cruel irony of my offering; a_ _bottle of fine spirits as a gift denotes celebration, not the sad parting of close friends, but hopefully you will feel, as I do, that we have much to celebrate and will toast a drink to us. I most certainly will; regardless of the occasion or company, when I raise my glass of whiskey,_ _I will always think of you._

 _This is our drink now._

 _With much affection,_

 _Phryne_

He was thrilled when the box of whiskey arrived and eagerly tore open the envelope. The worried and mournful tone of her note made him chuckle. So much had changed between them since she wrote it. Their kiss at the airfield that morning had indeed given him much to celebrate, and of course he would think of her whenever he had a drink. How could he not? He thought of her always.

In the first few weeks, he did as suggested. After a long day at work, he would sink into his chair with a sigh and pour a nip. He gently swirled his glass and marvelled at the warm and inviting colour before silently toasting their deepening relationship. Before taking a sip, he would hold it under his nose, close his eyes and breathe in its aroma, relishing in the memory of their toasts in her parlour that somehow evolved into moments of intimacy.

This daily routine gave him something to look forward to and helped him get through the long days without her. But as the weeks wore on and his yearning for her intensified, the whiskey became much more than a soothing drink. It became _her_ , an amber siren that would sing to him as soon as he walked in the door. It kept him company, helped him relax, and warmed his core on cool autumn nights as he sat in his chair with work or a book. When the weeks became months and he ached for her touch, it was a soothing and precious elixir, a remedy for the longing he felt deep in his bones.

But now, this once precious whiskey that glowed in the light of the lamp was a painful reminder of her and he wanted it gone. He lifted his glass and swirled it again, this time with contempt. He saw it so differently now. It was an appeasement gesture, a sweetener to lessen his anger towards her, booze that had dulled his senses and clouded his judgement. Even the colour he once thought warm and inviting now seemed metallic, cold and uncaring. He should have given the bottles away or poured the whiskey down the sink, but he couldn't bring himself to do either of those things. Instead, he had started to be more generous with the portions, which had the additional benefit of numbing his senses. He huffed out a breath and placed the glass back on the table. Damn her! Not only had she broken his heart, she had ruined his favourite drink for him too.

Despite knowing he shouldn't, he thought of their kiss at the airfield and how giddy he felt when he sat at his desk to write the first of many telegrams. He again shuffled through the papers and picked up a wad of well-thumbed cables. He looked at the first one, the one he sent to her on the day of her departure.

 _AXIS HAS SHIFTED AND WORLD SPINS MORE SLOWLY BUT HEART NOW BEATS FASTER STOP COUNTING THE DAYS_

How his heart soared when he received her response.

 _MY WORLD DECIDEDLY ETHEREAL BUT FEELING MORE GROUNDED THAN EVER BEFORE STOP WAIT FOR ME_

 _Wait for me._ And wait he did.

He fantasised about going after her, but he always knew that was impossible. With no money or time for a four-month return journey he had no choice but to continue their relationship via the written word. That suited him fine as he had always felt more comfortable disclosing his feelings that way. Her subtly suggestive telegrams filled him with promise, as did her letters. He would never forget how happy he felt when the first one arrived. There were no declarations of love, she was too guarded for that, but she wrote that she missed him and described her exotic locations while her father explored them. In between letters, she sent telegrams to let him know of her next destination so he could keep up with her journey and send her one back.

Ships between England and Australia departed every fortnight, so after a few months he received a letter every two weeks. On the day of delivery, he could feel the strong beat of his heart as he opened the letter box. He would sniff the envelope in the hope of detecting her scent that may have survived the long journey, take it straight to his chair and pour a glass of their whiskey. He would reach for the letter opener that never left his side table, carefully slice it open and devour every word.

No letter was too long or too dull, no passage too florid. Like her, they were lively and colourful and her beautiful prose would take him to places she described in great detail. Occasionally, after the second or third read after dinner, the combination of whiskey, longing, and the warmth of the fire transported him into her world and he was suddenly with her again, sharing in her life of adventure. In these dreams he would explore foreign lands with her, press up against her in the back of the car as they were driven to London, or lie gently on top of her with the sun on his back in a meadow of tall grass on the edge of her estate. They would kiss for hours, until the cool of the night in his dreams seeped into his bones and he would wake, cold and stiff. After a quick check on the fire, which had cooled to grey ashes, he would trudge off to bed, hoping his dreams would take him straight back to her.

And then everything changed.

Their correspondence continued as usual until she attended a ball hosted by one of her father's business partners. How she loved a ball, she enthused in a previous letter. She was thankful to have something to think about, she had written, as she was growing tired of being in England, but she still had some business to deal with before she could come home. Her excitement was palpable and she chatted her way through the letter, describing in great detail the dress she had bought: a figure-hugging, bias-cut gown in ivory silk by Madeleine Vionnet, a much sought-after French designer, she told him. It clung to her body, she wrote suggestively, accentuating her more curvaceous figure. Too much pudding, she had joked, and no handsome detectives to run after, or criminals to chase over walls and up drainpipes.

He had chuckled innocently at her words, but he was deeply affected by his imaginings of her more voluptuous form. God, how he wanted her! He became vague and forgetful, often closing his eyes at his desk and exhaling slowly as his fingers dug into her fleshier bottom to pull her tightly against him, until he was startled out of his lascivious thoughts by one of his constables seeking direction. He was annoyed at himself for letting her get to him like that, and also a little worried. If he was so affected by the vision of her in that dress, how would the men at the ball react to her?

A fortnight on, he opened his letterbox and stared at its emptiness in dismay. The depth of his disappointment shocked him, and he realised just how much his happiness had been tied to those letters. He assured himself there would be an explanation in her next one and tried to brush it aside, but the damage was done. A small seed of doubt had been planted.

Two tortuous weeks later, he opened his letterbox, but it wasn't excitement that quickened the beat of his heart. There was no bounce in his step as walked to his chair, no tremble in his hand as he reached for the opener, no smile on his face as he took in her words. His trepidation at reading her letter was warranted; it was brief and to the point, bordering on curt. She mostly wrote about her business transactions on behalf of her father in the week after the ball than the ball itself. He was expecting more detail, more gossip about who had done or said what, but there were no details at all, apart from the mention in passing that she had a little too much to drink.

By the time he had laboured through her strained words to her distant closing, he knew in his heart that whatever they had was over between them. He stuffed her letter back in the envelope and tossed it on the table. He stared at it for a while with his hand over his mouth. Something happened at that ball that changed the way she felt about him, and in his paranoid and miserable mind, there was only one explanation: she had taken a lover and was pushing him away.

Although he felt sick to the stomach at the thought of her being with someone else, he reminded himself he had no claims on her. He thought about sending her a telegram to gauge how she was feeling ten weeks on from the ball, but what could he possibly say? After moping for a week, he pretended nothing had changed and dutifully wrote back.

Their fortnightly correspondence stretched out to monthly, but it was her emotional withdrawal that most affected him; her letters were shorter and more impersonal in tone as she described what she did rather than how she felt. He knew what he had to do and did everything he could to fall out of love with her, but she didn't crush him with news of a lover, or hurt him with cruel words, so he struggled to let her go. How could he? They shared more than a physical attraction, they had a deep understanding of each other, an affinity he had felt with no other, so how could he possibly stop loving and wanting her?

Their awkward correspondence continued until her last letter arrived three months and two days ago. He didn't want to reply, but even after all that had happened, he felt it rude not to. When he eventually put pen to paper and skirted around the emotional chasm that had developed between them, his words felt forced and stilted. He screwed it up and started again, this time with forthrightness. He asked her what happened at that ball, demanded she tell him why she had withdrawn from him. But despite the kiss at the airfield and her promising note that came with the whiskey, he felt matters of her complicated heart were none of his business, so this felt wrong too. After hours of anguish and sadness, he scrunched his letter into a ball, threw it into the fire and watched what he thought were the last words he would write to her burst into flames. He sighed with relief. Too damned weak, he thought in disgust, always too weak with her. But never again. It was time to take back his life.

-/-

A rowdy cheer from the hotel below brought him back to the present. He yawned. He was tired and had barely slept a wink since Hugh informed him of her imminent arrival three days ago. He had tossed and turned at night as he tortured himself by imagining her relief when he didn't turn up to greet her. She would have read his reason for not being there almost as soon as she disembarked, letting out her breath when she learnt he would be hard to contact until he returned to Melbourne in a week or so.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Despite the pain she still caused him, a part of him felt he should have been there to greet her; he had been an important person in her life these last three years after all. But in what capacity? The local inspector that helped with her cases? Her friend? Her almost-lover? He huffed out a breath and bowed his head. There was no point in denying it, he still missed her terribly, her friendship most of all. He wanted to tell her about his time in a new town with new colleagues, let her know of the books he had bought in the second-hand bookstore close to the station, laugh with her about the spate of garden gnome thefts, which the local rag described as a crime wave. He tutted in disgust. Who was he kidding? Even now, after all the confusion and heartache, all the hard work in distancing himself so he could fall out of love with her, he still longed to see her. And what if he did? He shook his head slowly. He would continue to love her, even though he knew she could never love him back. Well, he would soon put a stop to that.

He drained the last of his whiskey and stood slowly, pausing to stretch before taking a few wobbly steps to kneel in front of the writing desk to retrieve the paper he had flicked away in frustration. He turned on the lamp and sat on the chair to read it, which he still struggled to do, but it wasn't the low light this time, he just couldn't get past the title:

 **VICTORIA POLICE**

 _Application_ _for Transfer_

He sat back hard and blew out a breath. Is this what he wanted? Could he really go through with it? He had yet another moment of doubt and wondered if he should wait until he had spoken to her. No, he thought sadly, what was the point? It was ridiculous to think they could ever have a future together. She would never change, never marry, never settle down with one person, so he had to stop hoping she would do that for him. If he moved to Geelong permanently, he could start over again, and maybe, just maybe, he could find someone to love who was willing and capable of loving him back.

He stared at the document with his pen poised above the signature line. He closed his eyes tightly and grimaced. This was one of the hardest things he would ever have to do. He put his pen down on the table and blew out a breath. He couldn't do it, not tonight, not when he was borderline drunk and too rattled to think straight. Maybe if he wrote to her to tell her of his intentions, he would have to go through with it. He could place the letter in the mail box at reception tonight. She would receive it later that week, and that would be that.

He pushed the transfer application aside and blinked at a blank piece of writing paper as he wondered how he should word it. After a while, he drew down the corners of his mouth and nodded; no holding back this time. He would finally write what he wanted to say these last few months. He needed to, so he could finally move on from her. He dipped his pen into the pot of ink on the table and began:

 _Dear Phryne …_


	3. Chapter 3

__Thank you all so much for taking the time to write lovely reviews and words of encouragement. I am humbled by your response to the story, and to me writing again after so long. I really appreciate it.__

 _I was inspired to write this story after a trip to a sheep station in south-western NSW a couple of years ago now. I thought it was beautiful country, rich in history and wildlife, but I'm sure others would find it harsh and desolate. I found myself wondering what it would have been like to visit in the early twentieth century …_

-o0o-

Mac peeked through the kitchen door to see Phryne seated at the table. Torn scraps of paper marked pages of a small book that she held open with one hand while she drew lines on a map that was spread out before her. A pot of tea and some biscuits sat neglected to the side.

"Planning your driving trip with the ol' battle-axe?" Mac asked loudly as she let herself into the kitchen.

Phryne smiled and called over her shoulder. "I'll be there in a minute, Aunt P."

Mac froze and hunched her shoulders. "She's here?" she hissed as she slunk into the chair opposite her.

Phryne twisted her lips to hide a smirk then burst out laughing. "Oh Mac, the look on your face!" She chuckled for a while before reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry, I know that was cruel, but I really needed that laugh."

Mac straightened and narrowed her eyes at her. "Well, hardy, ha ha!" She sat back with a small smile and folded her arms, pleased to see her friend, although clearly troubled, had not lost her wicked sense of humour. "So, where are you going?"

Phryne put her finger near the bottom middle of New South Wales. "Right here."

Mac leant forward to peer at the map and screwed up her face in disbelief. "You're driving all the way there?"

"Yes, apparently I am." Phryne said, widening her eyes briefly, as if she didn't quite believe it herself. "I'd like to get there mid-afternoon, so I'm trying to decide where to stop on the way. Swan Hill for a late lunch, I think."

Mac blew out a breath in disbelief. "You are a braver woman than I, Phryne Fisher." She felt the teapot, and deciding it was hot enough, poured herself some tea and grabbed a biscuit.

"So," she said, waving the biscuit around after taking a bite. "Why wasn't Jack there to greet you the other day. I thought he would be given the hints in your letters of a budding romance. I haven't seen him in a while."

Phryne felt a tug in her belly at the mention of his name but kept her head low, pretending to concentrate on the map. She was thankful for having another reason to explain his absence. "Didn't he tell you? He was assigned to a temporary position in Geelong after the death of the local inspector."

Mac tutted in sympathy. "Such unfortunate timing," she murmured, studying her friend as she spoke. "Poor bugger has looked so wretched of late, I was unsure if he would survive much longer without you."

Phryne kept her head low but flicked her eyes up at Mac briefly before returning them to the map. "Oh?" she said, trying to sound indifferent.

Mac watched Phryne pretend to study her route for a few moments. "Hmmm, shallow breathing, darting eyes, pressed lips … you're anxious at the mention of him. I know something has happened. What's going on with you two?"

Phryne knew not to fight it; Mac could always see straight through her. She flopped back in her chair, tossed her pen on the table and folded her arms. "I never could keep anything from you. You would have made a good a detective, you know," she said, narrowing her eyes at her. "Although I wish you had chosen a more useful profession," she teased, "like hairdressing."

Mac smiled. "Well, I am good at cutting, just not that kind." She put both arms on the table and leant in. "Stop avoiding my question. Out with it."

Phryne sighed in resignation. In an early letter to Mac, she described how Jack had turned up at the airfield and kissed her passionately in front of her father, so her friend knew of their closeness. Once she was settled in England, she wrote to her regularly and often asked about the cases they were working on together. She always suspected Mac knew her questions were more about wanting to hear about him than pining for her former life as a detective, so she wasn't surprised that when Mac wrote back and indulged her with anecdotes she always included an update on how she thought he was faring without her.

"How did you know?" Phryne asked her friend.

"Jack's behaviour of late, mostly. I've watched him slowly decline over the last couple of months. He was so happy for a while after you left, and then he changed. Quieter than usual, didn't smile much. Bit distant. I figured something must have happened between you two, given how you seem to have become the centre of his universe." She raised an eyebrow. "That and you not asking about him anymore. I wanted to ask you why, but didn't want to open any wounds that may be healing with time. I figured you would tell me eventually."

Phryne hated hearing about how he was so affected by her withdrawal. She looked down at the table and wondered how she could explain what had happened without going into painful and complicated detail. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she met her eye. "I was feeling stifled, so I withdrew from him," she said, waving her hand as if she were shooing a fly. "It caused some awkwardness between us, but nothing insurmountable." She shrugged. "We just need a bit of time to sort out a few things."

"Is that why you agreed to drive your aunt to Woop Woop? Running away again?"

Phryne folded her arms and frowned. She thrust her chin out. "I'm not running away!" she whined. "What would I be running away from? He isn't even here."

Mac arched her eyebrows and picked up another biscuit. She took a bite and chewed slowly, narrowing her eyes at her friend as she watched her every expression. "Whatever you say, Phryne, but I think you know as well as I do," she said pointing her biscuit at her, "that he is due back any day now."

Phryne frowned at her friend "You said you didn't know where he was!"

"No, I didn't. Of course I know where he is. I asked why he didn't come to greet you. Geelong's not that far from Melbourne. He could've easily driven here to see you … if he wanted to."

Phryne folded her arms and looked out the window. "All right," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I wanted to avoid seeing him and have more time to think about things," she turned to look back at Mac, "but mostly I said yes to Aunt P to help her recover and get her to her friend's party." Phryne shrugged. "Besides, I've never been to that part of New South Wales, nor have I been to a sheep station. It should be interesting, although I can't say this touring guide talks up the route." She picked up her book and opened it to a marked page. "Apparently, I will be driving through 'a large area of sandy waste'."

Mac smiled before taking the last sip of her tea. She was no fool, she knew Phryne wasn't ready to talk about Jack. She could wait. "Well then, when are you leaving and how long will you be away?"

"Leaving hideously early tomorrow morning, unfortunately, so I can make the station by mid-afternoon." She sighed. "That will give us a whole week before the party next Saturday. I haven't spoken to Aunt P about it yet, but I want to leave soon after that. Monday or Tuesday, probably. Depends on how sozzled I get."

Mac smiled at her and slapped her hands down on the table before standing up. "Well then, I must be off. The dead await me." She gave her a quick peck on her forehead. "Drive safely, I want you back in one piece. And don't let your aunt get to you," she called over her shoulder as she moved away from her, "you always drive too fast when you're agitated." She stopped at the door and swivelled to face her. "And another thing … behave," she said wagging a finger at her. "All those love-starved shearers with their muscly, lanolin-scented bodies." She pretended to shudder in delight. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Phryne chuckled as Mac closed the door behind her after giving her a quick wink. She hadn't thought about the shearers. Perhaps this would be an interesting trip after all.

-o0o-

After a short struggle getting her aunt's oversized luggage into the boot of her car, they set off just after dawn. Phryne was unused to being up so early and felt crotchety. She wasn't daunted by the distance, even though she had about a ten-hour drive ahead of her. She had always loved driving, second only to flying, although spending so long in a plane with her father almost ruined that for her. She was tired, that's all, she told herself, but she managed to relax a little once they reached the outskirts of Melbourne.

After an hour or so, her aunt came come to life. She was in fine spirits and nattered incessantly. Her aunt surprised her by asking after Jack. Phryne quickly explained where he was and changed the subject. As her aunt prattled on, she made the appropriate noises but her thoughts were very much elsewhere. After an hour or so of driving, her aunt, overcome by the early rise, fell asleep and the car was mercifully quiet.

Phryne sighed in relief. With her aunt asleep she could hear the comforting purr of the engine again. She felt calmer than she had in a long time and pressed her foot to the accelerator. She smiled and focused on the scenery. Freshly tarred roads took them through flat grasslands dotted with tall trees, which eventually turned into heavily wooded, hilly country. By the time her aunt woke again, they were driving through tall, rocky escarpments that towered over cool valleys. Around eleven, they stopped by a river for a snack and some tea from her thermos. Not long after they set off again, her aunt fell asleep, allowing Phryne to focus again on the ever-changing landscape. Low hills that were scattered with trees eventually flattened once she reached what the touring guide had described as a sandy waste. The land was without undulation, flatter than Melbourne if that was possible, and sparsely treed with small, spindly eucalypts that had shrunk to the size of tall shrubs.

It was almost one o'clock by the time they arrived at Swan Hill. Although their snack was only two hours ago, Phryne was ravenous. She looked at her watch and sighed in frustration. She didn't want to wake her aunt so she decided on a short stroll to stretch her legs before lunch. She wound down her window to give her some air, quietly opened the door and stepped out. After closing the door softly behind her, she yawned and stretched as she watched women with baskets looking at produce through the windows of the shops that lined the long street. She decided to stroll to the end and back to do her own window shopping. Perhaps she'd pop into the café to surprise her aunt with a small sweet treat for the last leg of their journey.

She set off on her walk, slowing about half way up the street to peek into a motor garage. Two cars with their hoods up, each with a pair of legs sticking out from underneath them, filled the small workshop. The familiar clink of metal on metal and occasional grunt as the men worked on engine parts she could probably still name, were as pleasurable as music to her ears. She sniffed deeply to take in the oil and sweat, and smiled at some of the few good memories she had of her childhood.

She glanced back at her car, saw no movement and continued her walk, trying not to think of Jack as she passed a large police station and lock up. After five minutes or so, the town ended abruptly, but a small track between two buildings lured her away from the street. She continued down the sandy trail for a few minutes and stepped into what looked like an endless expanse of scrub.

So, this is the outback, she thought, kicking at the fine, grey sand. The lovely red sand hills she drove through an hour ago gradually faded the further west they went, as if the increasing intensity of the sun in the cloudless sky had drained them of their colour until all that was left was the pale and parched dirt that spilled into her shoes.

Phryne squinted up at the sky, which also looked like it had endured a bit too much sun. It seemed paler than the sky in Melbourne and was an unbroken blue, which would always remind her of Jack. "Damn you!" she whispered, she just couldn't escape him.

She missed him terribly, not just working cases with him, but his company, their friendship, and the interesting discussions they'd had over the years, which started early in their relationship when he would drop around pretending to need help with a case. She knew he was more than capable of solving it himself, but she was always pleased to see him and looked forward to his visits. Not only was he good company, but he was witty and clever, and one of the few people who would challenge her views, so their debates, fuelled by plenty of whiskey, were lively and interesting. They would talk for hours, sometimes over a game of draughts, until it was socially unacceptable for him to stay any longer and he would reluctantly bid her goodnight. She eventually asked him around for a social visit so they would have more time together. She would never forget the look on his face as he gazed at her before nodding with a small smile. He looked grateful, which she put down to loneliness. After that, they met regularly for afternoon tea in her garden, mostly on Sundays, which was his usual rostered day off.

Not only did she enjoy his company and their conversations, she loved feeding him too, and instructed Mr Butler to bake on a Saturday in case he would drop around the next day. This encouraged him, and his visits increased in frequency. In the six weeks before her father arrived and ruined everything, he came by every Sunday. What started out as tea and cakes with a friend gradually turned into something that felt like courtship.

She closed her eyes and recalled their conversation about cloudless skies not long before she left for England. They were seated in her garden under the intense, unbroken blue of a gloriously bright summer's day. She cut him a piece of hot apricot pie and rarely for her, remarked on the weather. As she placed it in his bowl, she pronounced that she loved the expanse of blue on a clear, cloudless day. The sky was asserting itself, she explained as she poured lashings of cream on his pie, ridding itself of those pesky balls of near-nothingness. Everyone was happier when the sky was clear.

"Not everyone, Phryne," he countered with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He looked skyward and in a passable American accent declared, "There was the big sky up there, empty and awful deep." _Tom Sawyer_ , he explained, seeing her confusion. "I feel that too. I have always preferred a clouded sky." He took a sip of his tea and then added, "I think clouds are beautiful. A blue sky is like a blank canvas: it has promise, but nothing to hold the interest. What artist paints a sky without clouds? Also," he continued, looking upwards, "as a child, a clear, blue sky always made me feel strangely vulnerable, less grounded perhaps … precariously tethered," he added, looking at her. "I always felt like gravity had to work harder when the sky held no clouds." He smiled shyly. "They were my protective barrier to the deep unknown beyond."

Phryne sat quietly, transfixed by his words. He still managed to surprise her after two years of knowing him. In that time he had slowly revealed himself, especially after a whiskey or two, so she knew he had an inquisitive mind and was lover of poetry, but she never suspected he had a whimsical side. She studied him as he tucked into the pie. He had the mind of a philosopher, the heart of a poet, and a profession that required neither of those traits. Despite doing all she could to resist him, she fell in love with him a little that day.

Jack, realising she was unusually quiet, stopped eating and looked up to see a curious look on her face. He held her gaze until the clink of his spoon on his bowl startled her out of whatever it was she was thinking about. He took another mouthful, raised his eyebrows as he chewed and smiled to let her know it was delicious.

Phryne blinked quickly and gathered her thoughts. "But aren't you a stargazer, Jack? Wouldn't a cloudless sky at night bring on these feelings of weightlessness and make you feel, as you say, precariously tethered as you gazed at the heavens?"

"Ah. Yes, it would," he said quickly as he scraped his bowl to get the last of the pie, "but that's a good thing at night." He swallowed and put his spoon down, watching her frown and cock her head.

"I was taught that one had to be sensible and get on with life during the day," he explained. "But the night …," he said dreamily, looking up at the sky again, "the night was reserved for fantasy and make-believe, exploring other worlds in books, or in one's mind, if one's imagination allowed it." He sat quietly for a few seconds, lost in memories. "Precariously tethered to the earth at night," he eventually continued, looking back at Phryne, "was exactly how I wanted to feel."

Phryne stared at him for a few moments, then smirked and leant forward. She looked up at him through lowered lashes, "And now, as an adult?" she asked in a low voice. "Do you still fantasise at night?"

Jack shrugged. "Of course," he said with a lopsided smile. "I'm all for policing, just not of one's mind."

Phryne chuckled and sat back in her chair. "Well, I never!" she teased. "Our sensible and self-contained Inspector transforms under the cover of darkness." She leant forward again. "I'd like to see that," she said slowly and quietly, flicking up an eyebrow before taking a sip of tea.

"Well then," he said softly, holding her gaze, "you'll have to spend more time with me at night." He too took a sip of tea and twisted his lips to hide his smirk but gave up, allowing his smile to spread into a grin, then a chuckle as he passed her his bowl for more pie.

-o0o-

A flock of galahs screeched and squealed above Phryne's head, jolting her out of her thoughts. She looked up to watch them as they wheeled and careened in a mess of pink and grey before landing in one of the tall street trees, where they continued to bicker. She sighed and turned to walk back into town, her mind still with Jack on that day in her garden. She was deeply affected by their flirting and had spent all afternoon trying to figure out how best to lure him to her bed without scaring him off. In the end, she settled for a hasty peck on his cheek after a dinner invitation and a loaded look at the door. She watched him whistle as he walked down her path with his hands in his pockets, turning to give her one last look and a smile before disappearing down the street.

She sighed. It seemed so long ago now, long enough for the giddiness and lust they felt early on to decay into angst and confusion. She walked back to the top of the path where the ground was harder and leant against a building to shake the sand out of her shoes while she looked back towards her car. Her aunt was standing on the footpath, hands on her hips as she twisted to look for her. Phryne stood up, let out a small groan and walked briskly towards her to continue their journey.


	4. Chapter 4

The murder mystery begins ... Please note: the next few chapters use language to describe a race of people that may be deemed offensive. I used these terms to be true to the language used at the time.

Thanks again, lovely readers, for taking the time to leave me a review.

-o0o-

Phryne drew to a stop and blew out a breath in relief. Big black letters on a rusty, bullet-riddled sign that hung over the entrance to the property declared they had reached Yarrowee Station. She turned to look at her aunt, who smiled at her and patted her knee. They had finally made it.

She stretched her aching back and neck before driving over the sheep grid into the property. The road was full of ruts and pot holes so she drove slowly, which allowed them to take in the countryside. The long, straight road that disappeared into the shimmering and dust-stained horizon divided two very different landscapes. To their right, a barbed-wire fence marked the southern limit of a dry, desolate plain that seemed to go on forever. Hundreds of freshly shorn sheep kicked up small puffs of dust as they pawed at the bare ground in search of something to nibble.

Phryne grimaced. She hoped the homestead wasn't surrounded by land like that. She knew the outback was dry, but didn't realise how bleak and barren it would be, a world away from the lush green countryside of her family's estate. She turned her attention to the unfenced land to the left, which was teeming with life. Small, grey shrubs with colourful flowers and clumps of what looked like spikey, grey grass grew from sand the colour of pale copper. The spindly gum trees she saw at Swan Hill were beautiful here: each tree had many small trunks that glowed, smooth and pale, in the afternoon light. In the distance, much larger trees snaked their way through the bush, tall and gnarly reminders that rivers and creeks once flowed through the land.

As they drove on, huge flocks of budgerigars erupted from the grass on the edge of the road. They circled in a tight flock, complaining loudly before eventually settling into the small gum trees like bright green, noisy leaves. A mile of two later, she rounded a bend to the left and they gasped in surprise at a family of emus that were pecking hopefully at the ground. Phryne and her aunt looked on in wonder as they quickly stood upright, standing taller than a man, before setting off at an ungainly trot. They spooked a small mob of red kangaroos lazing away the hot afternoon in the shade of the taller shrubs. They too stood quickly, hopped a few yards away and stopped to stand tall and alert to watch them drive by.

A little further down the road, a signpost on the left pointed to a woolshed and wharf. Phryne stopped the car so they could peer into the distance and admire the enormous wooden structure that had weathered to a beautiful silvery grey, not unlike the surrounding landscape.

After passing a small cluster of roughly built cottages, they rounded a grove of tall trees and saw the impressively large homestead on top of a distant hill. As they drew closer, Phryne stared in wonder at the size of it. It was built in the 1860s, her aunt informed her on the drive, was U-shaped and had enough rooms to sleep twenty people. The timber and daub cladding gave it a rustic feel, and she hoped it was more modern and comfortable on the inside than it looked on the outside.

They bounced over another sheep grid and continued to the end of the drive, parking under the shade of a huge peppercorn tree, just as her aunt's friend emerged from a breezeway and waved.

A tall, lean, handsome woman dressed in a plain, long skirt and blouse stepped off the deep verandah and strode towards them with outstretched arms as they got out of the car.

"Pru, darling! You made it!" she said with an accent that betrayed her wealthy, city upbringing. She embraced her friend warmly. "Are you quite well? You gave me such a fright with your news! And you must be Miss Fisher," she said, turning to take Phryne in. She smiled. "You are right," she said, turning back to Phryne's aunt, "she is very glamorous and beautiful!"

Phryne grinned at the unexpected compliment, despite feeling far from glamorous or beautiful after a very early start and several hours of driving. She walked towards her and held out her hand to greet her. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs Morecroft. And please, call me Phryne."

"I'm so very pleased to finally meet you, my dear," she said, shaking Phryne's hand with a no-nonsense grip. "And you must call me Cornelia. I'm so grateful to you for driving your poor aunt all the way up here to see me. You both must be exhausted!" She turned and motioned them to follow her. "Come in out of the heat and have some refreshments and we'll sort your bags later. I thought you might like to stay in the small guesthouse with a view of the lake, my dear," she said to Phryne. "I know you'll be comfortable there. Your dear aunt will stay in the homestead with me, so I can keep a close eye on her."

Just before they reached the verandah, a young man appeared. "Harold dear, perfect timing."

Mrs Stanley drew in a breath, "Goodness, how you've grown!"

He gave her a lopsided smile as he stepped off the verandah. "I should hope so," he said with a twang common to these parts. "I think I was fourteen last time you visited."

Mrs Stanley clicked her tongue. "Oh dear, has it really been that long?"

Phryne's eyes wandered over him. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, tall and rangy, with a deeply tanned, heart-shaped face that sported high cheekbones. His mop of curly brown hair tumbled over large eyes the colour of chocolate. She could get lost in those eyes. And that smile.

Cornelia turned to Phryne. "This is my grandson, Harold. Harold, this is Miss Fisher, and I see you remember Mrs Stanley. Harold is our jack-of-all-trades and helps run the station. He'll take your luggage to your rooms."

Phryne self-consciously smoothed down her dusty hair and held out her hand, "Pleased to meet you, Harold."

He gave her hand a gentle shake. "Pleased to meet you, miss," he said, touching his wide-brimmed felt hat. "Call me Harry."

Phryne gave him a broad smile and nodded. "Harry it is then." She turned to look at her car, dug out the keys from her purse and dangled them enticingly in front of him. "Once you're finished with Mrs Stanley's bags, which are all in the boot, perhaps you'd be so kind to drive my car to the guesthouse to drop off my luggage. If it's not too far away, you can leave it there and I will walk over later to stretch my legs."

"The road's shorter," he said, dragging his eyes away from her car to look at her. "Fifteen minutes' walk down the road and the first on the left, but the sun's got a bit of bite, even at this time of day. It's an easy twenty if you take the shady path through the trees by the lake."

"Well then, that's settled. I will walk along the lake."

Cornelia led her guests through a covered breezeway that separated the main house from the wings and opened a door to an impressively large and cool sitting room. Phryne walked to the centre of the room and swivelled slowly to take it in. It was almost three times the size of her parlour and was generously furnished with clusters of lounges and chairs in the corners, several bookcases, an old upright piano, and an enormous fireplace. This was clearly a room for entertaining large numbers of people. She sighed in relief. It was charming, the perfect place to while away time.

She walked towards two glazed double doors flanked by narrow windows that ran from the floor to the ceiling. She drew back the lace curtain to see clusters of wicker chairs on a deep verandah and beyond that, a fenced, formal garden filled with roses and colourful perennials. The garden was surrounded by a lush, bright green lawn, which was a welcome contrast to the dull greens, browns and greys of the dry country beyond and she immediately felt more at home. The lawn stopped abruptly just before the land sloped down to tall trees that offered glimpses of the lake beyond.

Cornelia appeared by her side with a glass of lemonade. Phryne took it gratefully and moved to sit next to her aunt who had seated herself on one of the lounges by the window.

"Such a lovely room, Cornelia. Do you entertain here often?"

Cornelia offered her guests a plate of biscuits and sat down opposite them. "In my younger days, yes, when Mr Morecroft was still with us. I am hosting the annual thank you to the shearers here on Wednesday evening, and of course my party is Saturday. We still host the odd tennis tournament, which are more like tennis parties actually, I don't think anyone scores any more. And then there's the Bachelor and Spinsters Ball that we hold here after the shearing season is over. Young people come from all over for that, so we need to have that in the woolshed.

Phryne stopped listening after the mention of tennis as she relived the tug in her belly when she first saw Jack in crisp tennis whites that accentuated his narrow hips and broad shoulders. Her knees had almost buckled at all that exposed flesh thanks to his rolled-up sleeves and unbuttoned collar. She had tried to regain composure but wilted under the burn of his gaze as he strutted towards her, racquet in hand. He looked confident, cocky even, knowing he would have the upper hand in the game. When he reached her, he stood a little too close. Not that she minded. Her fingers twitched with the need to touch him as her eyes drifted down the full length of his throat to the hollow of his jugular notch. They locked eyes for a few seconds before adopting their usual air of indifference. He came alive in that game. She could still hear his chuckle, his teasing, the playful jibes at her serve when she hit the ball into the net …

"Phryne?"

Phryne jumped. "Hmm? Sorry Aunt P, I was miles away."

"Cornelia asked if you play tennis."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Cornelia," she said with a small smile. "I'm feeling a little vague after the long drive. I'm not much of a tennis player. My serve lets me down, apparently. I do love swimming though. Is the lake suitable for swimming?"

Cornelia shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Unfortunately, we are in the midst of a terrible drought, my dear, as I'm sure you noticed on the drive here. All the creeks are dry and the lake is half empty. When it's full, it's lovely for swimming and boating, but nowadays it's quite shallow so you'll have to wade through muck and reeds for a good thirty yards before you get to the water. Even then, it's quite muddy. Rain's forecast upstream I hear, so we may get some water soon, if it makes it this far down the river."

Phryne exhaled slowly, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. Her shimmering oasis was a quagmire. She sat quietly as her aunt and Cornelia chatted about their old friends. She couldn't remember the last time her aunt was so animated and she reminded herself that bringing her here was the right thing to do.

After half an hour or so, she excused herself so she could have a nap before dinner. She walked onto the verandah, shut the door behind her and sighed in relief at finally being alone. She stepped onto the lawn, stopping to scan the sky for a glimpse of anything that could block the searing sun or produce rain. Nothing, not even a wisp. Jack's words in her garden still haunted her and she wondered how he would feel here under a sky so big, so empty and so blue. She certainly wasn't in danger of drifting off into space. If anything, she was sinking, weighed down by the heaviness of the mess she had caused.

She wandered through the colourful garden and down into the shade of enormous, gnarled trees that grew on what was once the edge of a huge lake. Drawn closer by the glistening water, she stepped off the hard and cracked mud, stopping suddenly when she felt herself sink into the ground on the edge of an impenetrable barrier of sludge and reeds. Groaning, she turned right onto a small path that meandered through the trees and walked, lost in thought, until she emerged onto a grassy knoll with a bench that looked over the lake. It was too hot to stop now and take in the view of what little water there was. She would come back with her flask after dinner.

After walking a couple more minutes through scrubby bush, she emerged to see a quaint timber cottage that was raised a couple of feet off the ground. Several small dinghies lay under a verandah that housed a small table and two chairs, the perfect spot to watch the sun set on warm afternoons with a drink.

She opened the door and sighed in relief at the coolness of the small room. Closing the door behind her, she dumped her bag and hat on the lounge under the windows at the front of the cottage and drew back the curtains. A small fireplace on the wall next to the lounge was already set, and a coffee table and two armchairs sat opposite the lounge. A sideboard and small dining table were positioned up against the back wall. She poked her head into the small washroom off to the left before walking into the bedroom with a tall dresser and double bed under a window. Her luggage sat on the bed, ready to be unpacked. She smiled. It was cosy, well appointed, and charming; a perfect retreat from the heat and dust.

A decanter half full of whiskey sat on the sideboard, alongside an electric jug and tea caddy. After sniffing the whiskey to gauge its quality, she poured herself a generous glass and sat at the small table on the verandah. Distracted by the glistening water, she momentarily let down her guard, allowing Jack once again to sneak into her thoughts. What would he make of this strange land that was so foreign to her? She huffed out a wry laugh. She knew exactly how he'd feel here, or anywhere for that matter. After spending so long getting to know one another over the last couple of years, how could she not know what he liked and what drew his ire, what got him up in the mornings, and lately, what caused him grief. Their relationship had changed so much in the month or so before she left for England. When he stepped into her garden on a Sunday to share tea with her, he stopped being the guarded and serious police inspector who sought her help with his cases and became her close friend, a clever, warm and deeply introspective man that she had grown to know and …

No, she had to stop thinking of him in that way. She started to feel jittery and took an unladylike swig of whiskey in the hope of numbing the anxiety she felt when she thought of him. When she was in England, she had distracted herself by working to improve her father's finances, or travelling to London to meet with friends or acquaintances. She'd even taken to learning the names of the birds, flowers and trees that grew on the estate to keep her mind busy. But she couldn't put if off any longer. She needed to think about him. That was one of the reasons she was here, after all.

She tossed back the rest of the whiskey and nodded. She would set things right again by writing him a letter. She would be honest with him about how she felt in England, tell him exactly what happened at the ball, and admit she'd behaved deplorably in the hope he'd forgive her and rekindle their friendship, which she missed more than anything. She decided to do it first thing after breakfast. She was too tired to tackle that now.

-o0o-

A long hour had gone by since Phryne returned from the dining room. She was seated on one of the armchairs with her legs tucked under her and her chin in her hand, staring at the lace curtains that billowed in the warm breeze. She looked at the scrunched-up balls of paper and the half-written letter lying on the table in front of her and groaned. She normally loved writing letters. Her words seemed to have a mind of their own and would fly onto the page. But not this time.

She let out a frustrated grunt and leant forward to finish the damn thing when she heard the skid of bicycle wheels on gravel. Heavy footsteps on the verandah were quickly followed by thuds on the door.

"Miss Fisher! You in there? Miss Fisher?"

Phryne stood quickly and ran across the room, flinging open the door, her brow creased with worry. Harry was breathing heavily and staring at her with wide eyes. She looked over his shoulder at his bicycle that he had dropped on the ground, the back wheel still spinning.

"What is it?" she asked urgently, worried her aunt had been struck down again. "What's happened?"

"Murder, miss," he said in between deep breaths.

Phryne's eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. She blinked at him, her mouth still open in surprise. "What?"

"Been a murder."

"Who? Tell me!"

"Don't know 'im," he said. "Mrs Stanley sent me, said I was to fetch you."

She stared at him with her mouth open. "Goodness!" was all she could manage. How extraordinary, she thought. It was true after all, murder did indeed find her. She grabbed her hat and bag, slamming the door behind her before running down the steps and jumping over the bike on the way to her car.

Harry turned to her in the car. "She told me to tell you to come straight away. No detours." He looked at her with a frown. "Why would she say that?"

Phryne smiled and shrugged innocently as she started the engine. "Who found him?" she asked as she turned her car around.

"One of the greasies. Found him about an hour ago."

"Greasies?"

"Shearers."

"Oh, I see. Yes, that makes sense," she said, thinking back to Mac's taunt about lanolin-scented bodies. She put her foot down hard on the accelerator, sending a spray of gravel behind them.

"Where did he find the body?" she asked.

"Under the wharf at the woolshed."

"In the water?"

"Up on the bank."

"Goodness, how awful. Did he know him?"

Harry closed his eyes and ran his hand over his chin. "Nah, blackfella. The other blackfellas might know who he is."

Phryne clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Terrible! What makes you think he was murdered?"

"Stabbed in the neck, the butcher reckons.

"The butcher saw the body?"

"Well, we got him to help move 'im, being used to dead things 'n' all that. Plus, there's been a bit of that lately."

Phryne widened her eyes and turned to him. "Bit of what?"

"Murder of blacks."

Phryne's heart sunk. Murder was always horrid, but the ongoing persecution of Aboriginal people across the country affected her deeply, and no-one seemed to be doing a damn thing about it. She narrowed her eyes and gnashed her teeth as she pressed her foot on the accelerator. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself before talking.

"Why is this happening? Have they found who's doing it?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window. "Doubt it," he mumbled.

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you mean?

He looked at her and frowned. "Nothin'. It's not important."

"Yes, it is, Harry! Are you saying the murders aren't being investigated properly?"

Harry huffed out a wry laugh and shook his head. "They aren't being investigated at all."

Phryne slammed her foot on the break and skidded the car to a stop. "What? Why would you say that?"

Harry removed his hand from her dashboard, which he had put there to brace himself when she slammed on the brakes, and waved away her questions. "Forget it, forget I said anything. There's nothing we can do anyway."

"But Harry, if this is true we must do something! I can—"

"I said forget it!"

Phryne jumped at his unexpected outburst. They sat quietly for a few moments and glared at each other. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it quickly. No-one got away with talking to her that way, but she went easy on him. She had already decided he was a decent and affable young man and he seemed genuinely perturbed by the murder. Plus, he had impressed her last night at dinner when the conversation turned to the history of her property. He had expressed regret at the enforced displacement of the tribe that lived on the land before it was gifted to his great-grandfather by the government, and cleared to run sheep. His family tried to make up for the sins of their forefathers, he had told her, by employing Aboriginal shearers and staff.

She worked her jaw as she thought about crooked cops and shoddy police work, two things that would always rile her. She took a deep breath and tried to control her anger as she set off again. "Where's the body now?"

Harry looked at her clenched jaw. He expected her to be flustered and worried, but her demeanour had changed from surprise to curiosity, eventually darkening to anger, presumably because he had raised his voice at her for being so nosy. "Cool room of the slaughter house. I've been told to stand guard. Dunno why, it's safe there I reckon. No-one likes the butchery and the greasies are hard at it all day."

"So where is this butchery?" she asked lightly, as if she were making normal holiday conversation rather than wanting to know where a dead man had been stashed.

"Down that road," he said, pointing at a small road that was off to the left just ahead of them.

Phryne narrowed her eyes, set her jaw, and tightened her grip on the wheel. She was done with injustice. She put her foot on the accelerator and hurtled along the road, jerking the wheel to the left at the turn and skidding the car on the gravel road in a cloud of dust and stones.

Harry cried out, his arms flailing as he tried to find something to grab on to. She quickly steadied the Hispano and accelerated down the road away from the dust and falling gravel, ignoring Harry's angry demands that she turn around. This was just what she needed: a chance to help right a wrong.

Harry placed his hand on the dash again to steady himself. "What the hell was that? Are you mad?" he yelled at her. "What are you doing? We need to go straight to the house. Come straight back, she said!"

He continued to rant at her as she hurtled down that road towards the butchery, but she wasn't listening. She wasn't one to celebrate murder, but she allowed herself a small smile. She was about to embark on a new adventure, one that would no doubt bring her face to face with deception and danger. As always, she thought, not knowing what she was in for, she was ready for that.


	5. Chapter 5

_The investigation begins ..._

Phryne skidded to a stop in front of a small cluster of buildings flanked by a holding pen. "You've nothing to worry about, Harry. I will tell Mrs Morecroft that I insisted on driving you here."

Harry calmed a little but still frowned at her. "Jesus Christ! What the hell was that about? You could have killed us back there." He shook his head and moved to open the door.

"Not so fast," she said, grabbing his arm. "I need you to stand guard while I look over the body."

Harry jerked his arm away from her and stared at her with his mouth open. "You what? Are you mad? Why on earth would you want do that? Who are you and what the hell are you up to?"

Phryne bit her lip as she studied his face. "Listen Harry, we don't have much time. If I tell you something, can I trust you not to tell anyone, especially the police?"

Harry frowned and drew back a little. He watched her scrabble in her handbag and pull out a small card, which she held against her chest. He was wary of her motivations, but also intrigued. He nodded.

Phryne handed him her business card. "I'm a private detective, Harry," she said, watching him closely.

He flicked his eyes up at her. "I can read, you know." He looked uneasy. "Are you saying you are here to investigate us?"

"No Harry!" she said quickly. "Not at all. I drove my aunt here for the party. Just an unfortunate co-incidence."

He looked doubtful. "So why do you care so much?"

Phryne pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him. "I think the question should be why you _don't_ care that much."

Harry's features darkened immediately. "Don't you dare assume I don't care!" he growled at her. "I have every right to be suspicious. Can't you see how strange this is? A dolled-up toff from the city wants to look over a dead body because she thinks she'd be better at it than the police?"

"I know it looks strange, Harry, but you did just tell me these deaths aren't properly investigated and the police can't be trusted."

Harry shook his head vigorously. "I never said that!"

Phryne was losing patience. "You implied it, Harry. I'm going in there whether you like it or not. I want to look over the body before the police do so I can make sure they are doing the right thing, that's all. A man's been murdered. A man that probably has a family who are worried sick right now. They deserve to know the truth and whoever did this needs to be punished." She saw his expression soften. "I've helped solve several murders. I am here for at least a week and can help find out who he is," she said gently. "I am actually quite good at this. I will be no longer than a few minutes and no-one will know. Please, Harry."

Harry frowned and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. He looked at her for a while before sighing and rolling his eyes. "All right then, but I'm coming in with you," he said, opening the car door. "Wouldn't want you fainting in there."

Phryne quickly got out too. "No, you're not Harry," she said over the roof of her car. "I need you to stand guard. Don't worry about me, I've seen more dead bodies than you've had hot dinners. I was an ambulance driver and nurse in the war so you can imagine the carnage I've seen. Trust me, I know about wounds that kill people."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "Bit posh for a nurse, aren't you?"

"If anyone comes," Phryne said, ignoring his dig at her, "just tell them I had an urgent call of nature and will be back soon."

Harry opened his mouth to respond but she turned quickly, flicked the car door shut behind her, and jogged towards the butchery. "Won't be 'alf a mo'," she called over her shoulder in a broad Australian accent. His mouth still hung open in disbelief as he watched her trot gracefully up the ramp in her city finery, take one last look around her, and disappear inside.

Harry slammed the door and turned to lean against it with his arms folded tightly. He didn't like being ordered around by a woman, especially an odd bird like her. He was intrigued though. And if what she said about being a good detective was true, he was very curious about just how much she would uncover. As much as he wanted it exposed, the truth could endanger them all.

-o0o-

Phryne stepped inside the brightly lit slaughter room and smarted at the metallic smell of blood. She shut the door behind her and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket so she could hold it to her nose as she scanned the room. The large metal hooks hanging above shallow troughs made her shudder, so she moved quickly to another door and stepped inside the butchery, noting the variously shaped knives, saws and cleavers that hung from a rod suspended above the heavy wooden benches. Another door led to the cool room, which was pitch black. She left the door open for some light and ran her hands over the walls to feel for a light switch. She was starting to get frustrated when she walked into a cord. She pulled it to turn on the light.

The body lay face up, just a few feet inside the door. His mouth hung open, but she was relieved to see that his eyes were closed. She would never get used to the vacant stare of the dead. His elbows were on the floor but his hands were on his chest, one placed on top of the other in what looked like a mark of respect.

Phryne left the door open so she would be able to hear if anyone else arrived. She knelt beside the body to examine his head, which was angled towards her. At first, she thought it was badly bruised, but there was no swelling. Post-mortem lividity, she decided. He must have been found lying face down.

She checked his trouser pockets and quickly found a wallet, expertly rifling through the contents to look for something that would identify him. No identification, but the wallet still contained a small amount of money. She replaced it and went to work on the outside pockets of his jacket as she studied his face. He was a middle-aged Aboriginal man, not full blood judging by the look of him, was cleanly shaven and relatively well dressed with a neat appearance. Not a swagman then. His face and hair were dirt free, despite being found lying on the ground.

After finding nothing in his pockets, she turned her attention to his fawn jacket and shirt. It was dusty and covered in a lot of blood but she could see it was well cared for. No twigs or burrs though, which she'd normally expect to find on a body that had been lying in the bush. His trousers, however, told a very different story: his knees and thighs, also bloody, were covered with seeds and small twigs. The bottom of his trousers and laces and were thick with burrs. She picked a few off and put them in her handkerchief, which she folded and stuffed back in her pocket. His shoes looked recently polished. No scuff marks on the toes, but most of the leather on the back of the shoes had been scraped off.

Next she examined the bloodstains on his collar and clothes. She quickly unbuttoned his shirt at the neck as far down as she could and saw what looked like a single stab wound to the base of the neck just above his collar bone. The wound looked no bigger than half an inch long and probably pierced his external jugular vein. He would have bled out quite quickly; whoever stabbed him knew their anatomy or was very lucky. She buttoned him back up and looked at his hands and nails, which were bloody but otherwise clean. No defense wounds that she could see, no bruising to indicate he fought back. No split lip or grazed knuckles. He must have been taken completely by surprise.

She leant forward and put her hands either side of his head to feel for injuries. She ran her fingers over his scalp. Nothing. She moved her hands to his jaw and grimaced as she pushed hard on his top lip to look in his mouth, wishing she had thought to grab her gloves before rushing out the door. He had all his front teeth, which seemed to be in good condition. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for what she was going to do next. It shouldn't be too bad, she thought, he hadn't been dead that long. She leant forward and sniffed his mouth. Not a drunk then.

Although she was running out of time, she needed to check his inner breast pockets of his jacket for anything that would help identify him. Most people were right-handed so she worked on the left pocket first. Rigor mortis had set in so she inched her flattened hand under his jacket until she felt the edge of a pocket. Just as she expected: right underneath the dead weight of his arms. She pushed harder to get her hand inside. Her fingers brushed against what felt like a folded wad of money. She managed to pinch it between two fingers so she could prise it out. It was a small stack of about thirty tickets held together with a metal clip. She turned them over and raised her eyebrows.

Australian Workers' Union

Victorian-Riverina Branch

How very interesting, she thought. She pocketed one of the tickets, replacing the wad in his trouser pocket to save time.

She didn't have time to check for other wounds. There was nothing else she could do so she stood quickly and swept her eyes over the small room in case something had fallen from his pockets. She peered at the floor around his upper body and frowned. It was covered in what looked like the same twigs, burrs and dirt he had on his trousers. After finding nothing, she took one last look at the body and made her way back to the car, stopping briefly to check the knives in the butchery.

Harry stood upright when he saw her emerge from the door. He frowned at her as she walked briskly towards him. "What took you so long? What did you do in there?"

"I examined the body, like I said I would."

He widened his eyes at her. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you find anything on him?"

Phryne thought about how much she should tell him. "Nothing that identifies him, no. We can talk later. I need to get going."

Harry nodded and moved to walk away.

"One more thing, Harry," she said quickly. "If the police ask, I drove you here to guard the body and then left straight away. Yes?"

"Whatever you say, Miss Fisher."

Phryne got in her car and watched him walk away to sit under the shade of a tree with his face turned from her. It was a split-second decision, but she wondered if she had been right to trust him. She started the engine and headed for the homestead.

-o0o-

Phryne arrived in under minute, sliding to a stop on the gravel. She got out quickly and ran to the sitting room.

Her aunt stood when she saw her. "What on earth took you so long? This is terrible news. I can't believe it! Oh, poor Neely! Murder is terrible, but to have it occur in your home is devastating." She widened her eyes at her for emphasis. "I would know!"

Phryne put a calming hand on her shoulder "Yes, Aunt P. Terrible news. Hard to believe, actually. Where's Cornelia?"

"She's having a bit of a lie down. Poor dear's in shock."

Phryne nodded. "And what about you? Are you quite well? You should be resting too."

Her aunt waved away her concern, "No, no, I am fine. Don't worry about me."

"I assumed the police would be here by now," she said to her aunt. "Have they been rung yet?"

"Of course, they were rung straight away. I don't know what's taking them so long." She shook her head and tutted. "Terrible for poor Neely. And just before the party, too."

"Yes, it's very unfortunate." Phryne wondered if Cornelia had confided in her good friend about the recent deaths. "But apparently there have been quite a few deaths in the area lately."

Her aunt frowned. "Funny you should say that. Neely said the same thing."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Oh? What did she say?" she asked innocently.

Her aunt frowned and waved away her question. "Oh, I can't remember, dear."

Phryne took her by the arm and sat her on the lounge before fetching her a glass of sherry. She waited until she had taken a sip before asking her again. "Tell me what she said, Aunt P. It's important."

Her aunt narrowed her eyes at her. "Why is it important? Don't you go getting any fanciful ideas about getting involved, Phryne. I want you to stay out of it."

Phryne ignored her and patted her aunt's hand. "Please tell me, Aunt P."

Her aunt rolled her eyes and sighed. She knew Phryne wouldn't let it go. "It was something she said when she first heard the news. She went quite pale and said 'not again' and how it was such a sad state of affairs. I thought she was going to faint. She then said something about doing what she could for those poor people."

Phryne leant in close. "Which poor people? Does she mean Aboriginal people? Is that who she's talking about?"

Her aunt narrowed her eyes at her. She knew that look. "I don't know, Phryne, and don't you go running off to interrogate her! You are to leave this to the police. This is their territory and their community, not yours. Promise me you will leave this alone and not feel the need to get involved."

Phryne looked at her aunt. How could she possibly leave this alone? She settled on a compromise. "I won't get involved if I am satisfied the police are competent and thoroughly investigating this unfortunate incident."

Phryne heard car tyres on gravel and stood abruptly just as her aunt opened her mouth to say something. She walked quickly to the peppercorn tree and watched a black sedan followed by an ambulance turn the corner and pull to a stop just in front of her. A middle-aged man in plain clothes got out from behind the wheel of the car, followed by a younger, uniformed policeman. The older of the two signalled for the ambulance drivers to stay put, slammed his door shut and walked towards her.

"Miss Phryne Fisher," she said, holding her hand out. "Terrible circumstances."

The older man shook her hand with the tips of his fingers. He was late forties or fifty, weathered, but not unpleasant looking. "Miss, eh? Surely that can't be right," he said jovially, slowly looking her up and down. "Detective Sergeant William Wright, this is Sergeant Peters," he said, jerking his head towards the younger man. "I believe a body was found a short while ago. Is Mrs Morecroft inside?"

Phryne was used to men finding her attractive but she was surprised that he would openly ogle her at such an inappropriate time. "Yes, she is. Won't you come in?"

Phryne turned and walked ahead of him, feeling his eyes on her backside all the way to the sitting room. She introduced her aunt, then suggested she fetch her. As soon as she was gone, Phryne stuck out her chest and gave the detective her most vulnerable look.

"A dead body! Fancy that!" she exclaimed, placing her perfectly manicured hand on her chest. "Could it be murder? Do you get many murders around here, Detective? I do hope we'll be safe here."

His eyes again drifted over her body. He puffed out his chest and took a step towards her to stand so close he almost stepped on her toes. "Not too many, Miss Fisher, so I doubt very much it was murder. Probably just an unfortunate accident. No need to worry," he said, raising one eyebrow, "I'll get to the bottom of it."

Phryne gave him a dazzling smile. "Well, I am very thankful you're here." She was grateful her aunt wasn't there to witness her deplorable behaviour.

Wright opened his mouth to respond just when her aunt returned with Cornelia. Phryne looked over his shoulder to see her aunt narrow her eyes at the sight of them standing so close together.

"Bill," Cornelia said flatly, avoiding his eye. "Terrible business. How's Grace?"

"Er, she's well," he replied, flicking his eyes to Phryne. "In Echuca, helping prepare her niece's wedding. It's this Saturday, so she asked me to send an apology for your party. I'm a couple of staff down with influenza, so luckily for you, I stayed behind. Peter here yet?"

"Due over any minute now, I suspect," she said, not looking at him. She smiled warmly at the young sergeant. "Hello, Daniel."

"Rightio then," Wright said, clapping his hands together loudly. "I'd better take a look at this body. I'll need to have a wee bit of a chat with you and your staff after I get back," he said to Cornelia. "Who found it and where is it now?"

Cornelia told the detective where and when the body was found and offered him the office for his interviews. Wright gave her a curt nod and turned to leave, giving Phryne a small wink on the way out.

Phryne huffed out a breath and sat down. She was a little worried about what Harry would say and chided herself for trusting him so readily. She felt a bit cheap flirting with the detective like that, but why not take advantage of men's weaknesses if it helped her gain information. Her aunt and Cornelia left the room to take tea on the verandah so she chose a magazine, brought it back to the couch and set about trying to read one of the short stories. She had barely started it when Wright walked in with Harry close behind him.

She stood quickly. "You're back already?" She flicked her eyes to Harry, who leant against the wall on the other side of the room. "That was quick," she said lightly, forcing a smile. "Do you know the poor man? Was it murder?"

"Of course it wasn't murder!" Wright said dismissively. "No need to worry your pretty head about that, Miss Fisher. No idea who the poor bugger is, though. Most likely a swagman. Happens all the time around here, unfortunately. They get drunk, fall over, hit their head. That sort of thing." He swivelled to look at Harry. "Isn't that right, son?"

Harry shrugged and looked away.

Phryne stared at the detective in disbelief. "So, he hit his head then?" she asked, once she regained her composure. "Silly ol' me having such fanciful ideas! Must be all those penny dreadfuls I've been reading."

Wright brushed her arm with his fingers. "Try not to think about it anymore, Miss Fisher. Just an unfortunate accident."

She smiled at him sweetly. "Well, thank you, Detective, I can stop worrying now. It's so terrible, though. I hate the idea of the poor man's family not knowing what's happened to him. How will you find out who he is?"

"Yes, well, we took a photograph so we'll ask around a bit. We can only do our best. Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Fisher, I need to chat to a few people."

"Of course, Detective. Will you need to talk to me," she asked sweetly.

Her smiled at her. "I don't think that's necessary. Harry filled me in on your movements. But we can talk later, if you like. Will I see you at the party?"

"Oh, you're coming too?" she asked, trying to hide her surprise.

"Of course," he said, shooting Harry a look. "Harry's father and I are best mates. Grew up together. I'm practically family."

She nodded. "Well, until then, Detective."

He winked again at her and touched the brim of his hat. "I look forward it."

Phryne faked a dazzling smile until he left the room. She whipped her head around to look at Harry. He pushed off the wall and strode towards her with a tightly clenched jaw. She stood her ground, waiting for a continuation of the angry barrage from earlier.

Harry stopped just short of her. "That lying bastard!" he spat. "It was murder."

Phryne let out a breath in relief. She needed him on her side. "Yes, it most definitely was. But why would Wright lie?"

Harry bit his lip and looked at her for a while before shrugging. "He's a lazy bastard copper."

Phryne narrowed her eyes. "I think you know more, Harry."

Harry frowned at her and shook his head. "No, I don't. I just think he's a bit of a creep." He flicked up an eyebrow at her. "And I reckon you might now too, given how he put your pretty little head at ease. That was quite a performance. Detective and actress. Watch out for him, Miss Fisher, he's bad news."

Phryne snorted. "Don't worry, Harry, lying creeps aren't my type. Or your grandmother's. What's that about?

Harry frowned. "You'll have to ask her about that."

Phryne nodded slowly. She wasn't going to get any further with Harry on this issue. She decided to change tack. "Well, I'm going to ask your grandmother to request a policeman from Victoria to assist." She watched Harry's eyes widen briefly. "I noticed a large station at Swan Hill," she continued. "I'll need your help convincing her to do this."

"What? Why?"

Phryne rummaged in her purse and showed him the union ticket.

He looked up at her. "You said you didn't find anything on him!"

"I said I didn't find any identification. Look, I wasn't sure if I could trust you Harry, but I do now. Please, I need you to tell your grandmother what really happened."

Harry snorted. "You're wasting your time. No-one will admit to seeing anything and nothing will be done about it."

" _You_ saw the body, Harry. Are you saying you're going to lie too?"

Harry sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "It's complicated. I suggest you drop it and go back to doing whatever it is people like you do."

Phryne narrowed her eyes and walked slowly towards him. "People like me don't let people get away with murder, Harry. People like me aren't scared of bullies like Wright."

Harry scoffed at her words. "You have no idea who these people are or what you are getting yourself into."

"Then tell me! Why won't you tell me, Harry?"

"Tell you what?"

They turned to see Phryne's aunt standing in the doorway. She looked at them suspiciously.

Phryne looked back at Harry, who excused himself and left the room.

"What are you up to Phryne? I hope you're not meddling. Neely told me the detective said the poor man hit his head and died. A terrible accident, that's all."

Phryne bit on the inside of her lip. She would have to rely on her aunt's help in getting Cornelia on board, given Harry's strange reluctance. She tugged on her hand to pull her towards the lounge. "Come and sit down with me, Aunt P."

Her aunt pulled her hand away and narrowed her eyes at her. "Why?"

"Just a chat," she replied innocently. "Would you like another sherry?" She moved to the table to pour two glasses before sitting on the lounge and patting the cushion next to her.

Her aunt grunted and sat down.

"Detective Wright mentioned he was very close to Cornelia's son. I assume you know him?"

Her aunt pressed her lips together. "Frederick? Yes, I know him. He's in charge of the station's finances and staffing."

Phryne was surprised. "Why doesn't he live here?"

"He and Neely don't see eye to eye, dear. They fell out after Harry's mother died, but I don't know why and I don't ask, so neither should you," she said raising her eyebrows at her. "They are very tense around each other so they keep out of each other's way as much as they can. Believe me, I know how draining that can be. I'm no stranger to difficult relations with one's progeny."

"When did Harry's mother die?" Phryne asked, hoping to avoid a discussion about her cousin.

"Giving birth to Harry. I never met the poor woman, but Cornelia must have been very fond of her. She suffered considerable torment over that, almost as if she blamed herself, but I can't see why. So many women died during childbirth back then. The still do out here, apparently."

They sat silently for a while and sipped on their sherry. "Wright says he's almost family."

Her aunt scoffed. "I'd heard about him but never met him before today. Neely's daughter, Beth hated him apparently. Neely doesn't like him either. Never has."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Cornelia told you that?"

"Just a comment in passing." Her aunt narrowed her eyes at her. "Why are you suddenly so interested in the detective?"

Phryne shrugged. "I'm not, really. Just a bit bored, that's all. I didn't like him much either."

Her aunt screwed up her nose in disgust. "Yes, a snake if ever I saw one."

Phryne crossed her legs and bounced her foot in the air while she thought about how to enlist the help of her aunt. There was no way of tempering what she had to say, so she decided on bluntness. It was Aunt P's preferred method of communication after all.

"Aunt P …" she said, drawing out the initial.

"What, dear?"

"I need your help with something."

Her aunt raised her eyebrows. "What is it?"

"Well …" Phryne started, not knowing how to soften the blow that she had rummaged through the pockets of a dead man. She decided to go with forthrightness. "The detective is lying, Aunt P," she interrupted. "He pretended it was an accident but the man was murdered."

Her aunt tutted in exasperation. "Oh, for goodness sake, Phryne! Of course you'd assume murder. Why on earth would he tell you, a bored and nosy socialite from the city, any details about the investigation? He was probably wanting to spare you the gory details of a horrible accident. Ladies don't want to know these things."

"I'm not imaging it, Aunt P. I … I had a quick look at the body myself when I dropped Harry off to stand guard. It was definitely murder."

Her aunt drew in a sharp breath and shifted to face her on the lounge. "Phryne! Why would you even consider doing that? You are unconscionable!"

"Because Harry told me that the police rarely look into the death of Aboriginal people, even if foul play is suspected. After that, I just had to have a look. The victim didn't fall over drunk and hit his head, he was murdered. I saw the stab wound to his neck and the blood all over his body. Believe me, there was a lot of it. He also had a wallet and some union tickets that could potentially identify him. Wright lied, Aunt P. He told us he hit his head and had nothing on him that would identify him. The poor man might have family, and deserves a thorough investigation."

Her aunt stood up quickly. "Honestly, Phryne, I can't believe you are telling me this. This has been a terrible shock to all of us, and I don't want to hear another word of it!"

Phryne sat back in the chair and groaned as she watched her best hope of knowing what to say to Cornelia waddle angrily out of the room. She had no choice, she would have to talk to Cornelia at dinner tonight and risk alienating herself from her host. In the meantime, she would go back to the cottage to write up some notes while her inspection of the body was still fresh in her mind. Wright lied to them, but why? And why was Harry so reluctant to help her? She was determined to get to the bottom of it, hopefully with the help of the Swan Hill police. If Cornelia made the call tonight after dinner, they could get there first thing in the morning. All she could hope for was an upstanding and competent police officer who would take her seriously. Surely that wasn't too much to ask for.


	6. Chapter 6

_I thought I'd sneak in a chapter before the Christmas break. Wishing you all a very happy festive season and new year._

-o0o-

Dinner that night was a sombre affair. Harry was quiet and wouldn't meet Phryne's eye and her aunt, who sat opposite, spent the evening shifting in her seat, nervously waiting for her to bring up the body with Cornelia. Only the host put on a brave face, she had guests after all.

Phryne placed her knife and fork together on her plate. She delicately wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and cleared her throat, immediately feeling her aunt's foot prod her shin. She took advantage of the wide table and her aunt's squat stature by shifting her chair back a little and tucking her legs safely out of reach. She raised a defiant eyebrow at her and received narrowed eyes in return. She turned to Cornelia beside her, noticing her aunt slide down in her chair in a desperate attempt to reach her.

"I'm sorry to bring this up at dinner, Cornelia, but there's something I must ask you." Phryne glanced at her aunt to see her flare her eyes at her. She would no doubt be spoken to later.

Cornelia put her cutlery down and looked at Phryne. "Yes dear, what is it?"

"Please forgive my bluntness, but what did Detective Wright tell you about the man they found by the river?"

"Phryne!" her aunt blurted. "We've all had a terrible shock, especially Cornelia. Please leave this alone. You have no business asking such a question." She clicked her tongue loudly. "And at dinner time, no less."

Cornelia gave her friend a small smile. "Pru dear, it's quite all right. Better to talk about it than pretend it didn't happen." She looked at Harry, who sat opposite her. He avoided her eye so she turned back to Phryne. "He told me the man had no wallet or identification and was most likely a drunken drifter who had an unfortunate accident. His body will be kept at the hospital morgue for a week or so to see if anyone comes forward. If not, the State will bury him." She paused to take a deep breath and blew it out as a long sigh. "I didn't believe a word of it of course."

Eyebrows around the table were raised in surprise.

"May I ask why?" Phryne prompted.

Cornelia shook her head slowly. "It's very complicated, dear. It would be unfair of me to burden you with my beliefs, but I will say I have lost faith in the local police. It's quite ruined the idea of the party for me. How could I possibly celebrate knowing that poor man died on my property and no-one's doing anything about it?" She tutted. "He may have family wondering where he is." She was quiet for a short while and then nodded. "I've decided to cancel the party. I'll telephone everyone tomorrow before they start their travels."

Phryne looked at her aunt, who had sucked in a breath. She turned back to Cornelia. "I also didn't believe a word of what Detective Wright said."

Cornelia raised her eyebrows and blinked rapidly. "Why? Why would _you_ doubt the police, dear?"

Phryne ignored her aunt's groans. She took a deep breath, not knowing how Cornelia would react to what she had done. "You are right not to trust him. It's not what you were told. I know this because I examined the body on the way to the homestead yesterday before Wright did."

Cornelia sat upright and looked at Harry, who was looking down at the table and rubbing his brow. She turned back to Phryne. "Well! That is most peculiar. Why would you have done that?" She looked back at her grandson, who was still avoiding her eye. "Harry?"

Harry widened his eyes and held out his hands, palms up. "What was I to do? She wouldn't take no for an answer!"

"I'm a private detective, Cornelia," Phryne said quickly, before Harry could be implicated further. "I have been assisting the police in Melbourne with difficult cases for the last couple of years and I think I can help solve this one. At the very least I can speed things up, so you won't have to cancel your party."

"Goodness gracious!" she exclaimed, placing a hand on her chest. "A lady detective ... Well, this is a lot to take in." She looked at her friend across the table who closed her eyes and nodded. "And as a lady Detective, you inspect the dead? My, my, I've never heard anything like it." She looked at Phryne for a short while with what looked like admiration. "But why did you think you needed to see the body?"

Phryne looked at Harry and raised her eyebrows a little. She would have no way of explaining why she searched the body without telling her what Harry had said. He looked up at her, knowing what she was about to say. Phryne held her breath as they locked eyes for a few seconds. He closed his eyes and gave her a brief nod. He didn't see it, but he was rewarded with a grateful smile.

"Harry mentioned in the car that the recent suspicious deaths of Aboriginal people tend to go unsolved. I took that to mean these deaths were possibly murders that were passed off as accidents and were never properly investigated. If this is true, it's still happening. It's an appalling abuse of power and justice and I would like to do something about it, which is why I looked at the body before the police did. He was murdered, I'm afraid."

Cornelia nodded slowly and looked down at her hands that were clasped in her lap. She was quiet for a few moments. Everyone held their breath as they waited for her to say something. She looked up at Harry. "Another one. And on my property this time. You saw the body, Harry, is this what you believe too?"

Harry looked sheepish. He was about to disappoint his grandmother. "Yes," he said quietly, flicking his eyes up at her. "I didn't want to trouble you further before the party."

Cornelia was too polite to scold her grandson in front of guests. She pressed her lips together and expressed her disappointment quietly.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, my dear," she said turning to Phryne, "I have suspected that at least some of the recent deaths are murders. I thought I was the only one who believed this, or even cared, so didn't speak up. There is power in numbers out here, so a lone voice carries no weight, especially if that voice belongs to an elderly woman, even if I am highly regarded in the community. Anyway, I carry considerable guilt about that." She was quiet for a while. Her audience leaned forward a little, curious as to what she'd say next. She reached out and clasped Phryne's hand. "Well, not any more. I have stayed quiet for too long. Did you find out who he was?"

"No, I didn't," Phryne answered, relieved she wasn't angry with her, "but I found quite a few tickets from a Victorian union in his pocket, so he may be a union organiser from Victoria. Or at least helping one out. That means we can and should involve the Victorian police to properly investigate. I noticed a large police station at Swan Hill yesterday. If he is indeed Victorian, he would fall under their jurisdiction. With luck, they might know him. If not, they might do some actual policing to identify him. That's better than doing nothing, wouldn't you agree? Having another team involved would speed up the investigation, and perhaps it could be solved by your birthday. It would be such a shame to cancel your party after all your preparations."

Cornelia stared at the wall opposite while she considered Phryne's words. She glanced at Harry before turning to Phryne. "A union organiser? That is interesting. Was it the Australian Workers' Union?"

Phryne looked at her in surprise. "Yes it was! Have they been here before?"

"Not on my property, as far as I know," she said, looking at Harry who looked on impassively. "They're large and powerful. Their members are mostly fruit pickers, I hear, but they have their origins in the old Shearers' Union, so it makes sense that they're still nosing around sheep stations." She nodded to herself. "Given his race, he could have been touting the AWU to the Aboriginal workers on the property, I suppose. Also, there's a growing interest in the treatment of natives, which have some worried. It's much easier to repress the masses when they don't think they have any power or rights." She frowned. "But it's strange that the Victorians would be doing it on this side of the river, we have our own unions." She looked back at her grandson. "Has your father mentioned anything to you about union reps, Harry?"

Harry shrugged and shook his head.

Cornelia looked at her grandson. "All right then. Let's contact the Victorian police. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry twisted his mouth as he thought about how to reply. He glanced at Phryne before nodding. "Yes, I agree we need outside help."

Phryne watched him work his jaw. "Well, if the Victorians are happy to help, I'll tell them all I know and they can take it from there." She smiled to ease some of the tension around the table. She also hoped to fool her aunt into believing she wouldn't insist on being involved, in the hope of avoiding a lecture from her later that night. Judging by her aunt's narrowed eyes, she had failed.

"Well then," Cornelia said. "That's settled." She patted Phryne's hand. "Thank you my dear. I'm still a little shocked by all I've heard, but I am also a little impressed." She looked at Phryne's aunt. "Why didn't you tell me, Pru?"

Phryne's aunt drew back the corner of her mouth and shrugged. "Well, to be perfectly frank, I was hoping Phryne would get bored and move onto the next hobby."

Cornelia looked at Phryne and smiled. "Well, I'm very glad you didn't, dear. It's young ladies like you who make changes in the world, not old ducks like me and your dear aunt. Anyway," she said, feeling more hopeful now, "I should be the one to telephone Swan Hill station, but I must admit, I'm unsure of what to say. You'll have to fill me in on the details, my dear."

"Leave it to me, Neely." All eyes fell on Mrs Stanley. "You have a party to think about, my dear. I'm close to the wife of the Deputy Commissioner. I'll give him a call. He'll make sure we get the right person."

Phryne beamed at her. "Thank you, Aunt P."

Her aunt sighed. "It's good to feel useful, especially if it means the party can still go ahead. In the meantime, Phryne, I need you to tell me everything you know."

-o0o-

Phryne sat with her aunt at the breakfast table the next morning. She had risen early to ask her about the phone call to the Deputy Commissioner that her aunt had made that morning. They had spent the previous evening in the sitting room after dinner. Phryne told her everything about what Harry had said and her search of the body so she would know what to say to the Deputy Commissioner. She was impressed by how she took it all in. It was late by the time they finished, so her aunt delayed the call until the next morning.

"What?" Phryne said as she placed her tea cup in the saucer with a little too much force. "First thing tomorrow? Why on earth do we have to wait a whole day? Am I supposed to believe Swan Hill's been hit with a crime wave?"

"I've done my bit, Phryne," her aunt said gently, hoping to calm her down. "He telephoned back to tell me the officer is busy finalising a case. He assured me he would be the right man for the job. One day's not that long to wait. It's not like that poor man is going anywhere."

Phryne let out a frustrated grunt. There was no point in telling her aunt that any delay in an investigation lessened the likelihood of solving it. She decided to use the time to do her own investigating. If she could find out who he was, it would prove her worth and hopefully she'd be allowed to assist.

Cornelia's mention of the unease felt by some due to increased union activity in the area was certainly a good place to start. She still felt Harry knew more than he was letting on, so she started with him. She wanted to know about the conditions of the workers to understand why a union representative would be poking his nose around.

When she knocked on the office door and entered, he quickly picked up a pile of papers and pretended to be too busy to talk. After much resistance to her questions about wages and conditions, he reluctantly told her the Aboriginal shearers earnt considerably less than the others, making them highly valued by station owners but detested by the white shearers, whose jobs they'd replaced.

Phryne was horrified. "Why on earth wouldn't they get paid the same as the other shearers for doing the same work?"

"Well," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "because we need to keep the other shearers happy to avoid a repeat of the shearers' strike of '91."

"That's appalling! You undercut their wages to keep the other shearers happy and avoid conflict?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's more complicated than that."

"Then tell me."

"Shearers up in Queensland wanted more money and better conditions. They thought they were being smart and got the union involved, who also insisted they stop hiring the Chinese."

"Let me guess," Phryne interjected, "the Chinese worked harder for less money?"

Harry nodded. "Yep. The station owners wouldn't budge so the shearers went on strike." Harry scoffed. "Fat lot of good that did. The stations hired blackfellas and more Chinese as scab labour. Well, the shearers got their balls in an uproar after that …," he looked at Phryne sheepishly, "if you'll excuse the expression, and the strike spread throughout Queensland. Then more scab workers were brought in from other states. It got ugly after that: riots and violence and the like. Some of the strikers were shot, some were locked up, but most of them gave up and went back to work. There's nothing quite like hunger to make you rethink your political causes."

"Do you think there's a risk of that happening here?"

Harry shook his head. "Unlikely. We look after them and they stay loyal to us. They're paid well and we give 'em good food and lodgings." He paused. "And we make sure we don't use too many blacks. There always was and always will be tension between the black and white shearers, especially now the unions are stirring the pot."

Phryne raised an eyebrow. "So, you're not a fan of unions, then."

Harry frowned at her and pressed his lips together. "I didn't kill anyone Miss Fisher, if that's what you're thinking."

"I don't think you did, Harry."

"Well, just so you know, I don't believe in exploitation," he continued defensively, "no matter the colour."

Phryne frowned at him. "Yet, you do it anyway."

Harry glared at her and stood to let her know their chat was over. "Actually, we pay them more than we have to. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm busy."

"Just one more question, Harry. I'd like to talk to some of the Aboriginal shearers to see if they've been visited by our victim. Can you suggest someone and tell me the best place to find them?"

Harry scoffed. "No-one will talk to a white toff from the city, let alone a woman. Forget it, you'd have better luck with the other mob." He held out his hand to direct her out the door.

-o0o-

After leaving Harry with more questions than answers, Phryne drove to the woolshed so she could snoop around the shearers' quarters while they were hard at it. There were several rooms with six bunk beds, and a few single rooms, presumably for the foreman and other more senior staff. At the end of the enormous building, she found the common room, which was filled to the brim with tables and chairs. A battered piano stood silent in one corner.

She then explored where the body was found but found nothing of interest, so she walked to the end of the wharf and leant against a piling to take in this once-mighty river. When full, it would have been quite picturesque with its sweeping bends and heavily treed banks, but thanks to the drought, it was a pea-green drain speckled with rafts of scum. Soon after that, the heat forced her back to her cottage, where she wrote out some theories. The problem was, there were too many of them. She couldn't put it off, she needed to talk to the shearers.

-o0o-

Phryne felt uncharacteristically jittery as she walked along the verandah to the common room. She paused at the door to blow out a breath and steady her nerves by smoothing down her hair and straightening her clothes, which were plain by her standards. She didn't want her appearance to scream city socialite, so she had dressed simply and appropriately for the occasion: a plain blouse, jacket, jodhpurs, and boots, but she still wanted to be as presentable as possible, it had certainly worked in her favour before. She breathed in and out, more slowly this time, hoping to expel the niggling doubt that was eroding her confidence. She should probably wait for the detective who was arriving tomorrow morning, but she doubted he would ever allow her to assist him without proving herself to be invaluable to the case. There was only one policeman who would have accepted her help without question, and she had severed all contact with him. No, she had to do this now, before he arrived if she were to impress him. And to do that, she would have to get to know the men in that room.

She took one last deep breath and put her hand on the doorknob. Laughter and chatter seeped through the cracks in the door, allowing her to gauge the rough number and level of drunkenness of the men inside. She listened closely, no lady friends tonight it seemed; all she could hear were the deep, nasal voices and hearty guffaws of the shearers. She let out her breath. If she walked into that room she would be a lone woman in a roomful of men half gone with drink. She thought of Jack again. Would he approve of what she was doing? Most definitely not. She managed a small smile, clearly she was doing the right thing then. "Best get on with it", she whispered. She squared her shoulders, opened the door and stepped inside.

She was hit with a thick cloud of cigarette smoke that had mingled with beer and sweat to create an overwhelmingly male stench. She narrowed her stinging eyes and coughed, bringing her gloved hand to cover her nose and mouth while she quietly took in the scene before her. There must have been thirty or forty men packed into that room. The laughter and chatter had died down as soon as she entered and drinks were placed slowly back onto tables, which were littered with empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays.

Her gaze was met with the unsettling leer of men who had been starved of the sight and the feel of a woman. She shifted from one foot to the other as she watched their eyes roam freely over her elegantly dressed and curvaceous form. It was clear from their lecherous looks that they liked what they saw. Their cigarettes, quickly forgotten, hung precariously from their open mouths as they unashamedly ogled her, revealing the few yellowed and chipped teeth that somehow had managed to survive pub brawls and poor hygiene. She stood tall and removed her hand from her mouth, holding her head high in an effort to hide her discomfort.

She needed someone or something to focus on to distract herself from the flush that was slowly making its way from her chest up her neck, so she focused on the faces, hoping to recognise someone she had seen around the homestead. She quickly realised she was in a room full of strangers. Even though she didn't know them, it didn't take long to work out their stories. They were mostly on the younger side of fifty, but poverty and hardship were etched into their deeply creased features, which gave them the look of a much older man. They squinted back at her, despite the dimness of the room, a habit picked up from a lifetime of relentless sun and sand storms. She thought back to Mac's warning about being tempted by the muscly, lanolin-scented shearers. If she wasn't so uncomfortable she would have laughed; there was no danger of that with this lot.

Only twenty seconds or so had passed since she walked into that room, but it felt like eternity. She was no stranger to feeling different, she had travelled the world and mingled with many cultures, but here in her country of birth, she had entered an alien world. She felt more at home in the seedy back streets of Shanghai than she did in that room, but she wasn't going to let them know that.

"Put your tongues back in, gentleman," she announced with contrived confidence and clipped vowels. "I'm quite sure you've all seen a lady before."

"Not too many ladies round 'ere, luv," a wag from the back of the room called out. "Some of our ewes 'ave better manners than the sheilas we know." The room erupted into laughter. He patted his thigh while his mates continued to snigger. "Come sit 'ere, darlin' and I'll letcha put it back in for me." He stuck out his tongue, flattening it against his chin and moving it slowly upwards to his nose in an exaggerated lick that was unimpeded by teeth. The men thumped the tables and howled with laughter.

Phryne stood her ground as they all hooted and chimed in with lewd propositions that made her skin crawl, each one cruder than the last. For the first time in a long time she was unsure what to do. She wanted to run, flee the obscenities and catcalls and lecherous looks. The right thing to do would be acknowledge their presence, pronounce she was in the wrong place and return to the quiet and safety of her room. But Phryne Fisher was not one to let a little uncomfortableness get in the way of an investigation, nor would she run from opportunity, no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel. No, she was here for a reason: she had a job to do.

She straightened her back and took a few steps towards an empty seat at a table of younger men and sat with her back to the doorway, doing her best to ignore the many eyes watching her every movement. The laughter died down and was replaced by the sound of scraped chairs as the men adjusted their seats to watch her. The men at her table leant forward as they waited for her to say something. The interest in her remained, but the chatter slowly died down to a murmur.

She opened her mouth to introduce herself when the door opened behind her. She took advantage of the sudden rush of cool and clean air and sucked in a few deep breaths. As she exhaled, she noticed the room was completely silent. The men at her table were staring at the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Another stranger had entered the room.

She twisted her body to see who had entered and sucked in a breath. The man standing in the doorway was bloodied and bruised. He had what looked like a deep cut just above his left eye, which was swollen and partially shut. The smear of blood on his face looked like the wound had been hastily cleaned with a rag or dry handkerchief. Despite what looked like a painful blow to the head, he seemed unperturbed by his injuries.

He stood in the doorway and scanned the room, much like she had just done, but without the self-consciousness that comes from being the only woman in a very male world.

He was looking for someone. He was looking for her.

The flush she just managed to quell made a sudden reappearance and she pushed back her chair and stood quickly, twisting to face him, her mouth still open in surprise. She watched as he turned his head at the scrape of her chair and widened his eyes in recognition.

Inspector Jack Robinson had entered the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks again everyone for the lovely reviews and Christmas wishes. I hope you have a great New Year's Eve celebration, if you're out and about on that crazy night. 'See you' next year!

* * *

Phryne felt a strong tug in her belly as their eyes locked. She took an involuntary step towards him, stopping quickly to gather her wits and snap her gaping mouth shut. They gazed at each other for a few moments until he broke eye contact to flick his eyes down her body.

Phryne looked at him in disbelief, he looked at her with an expression she couldn't read, and not just because of his swollen brow. She smoothed down her hair and slowly made her way to him with a feigned look of detached concern, hoping the men in the room couldn't hear her heart pounding in her chest. She stood before him with her back to the room and widened her eyes briefly as a caution.

"Are you very badly hurt?" she asked him.

He looked at her without expression. "Not badly, no," he replied, playing along. "I hit a roo and knocked my head on the steering wheel. I'll be fine. I just need to wash and find somewhere to sit for a while."

Phryne's knees almost buckled at the sound of his voice. She took in his neat, casual clothes as he glanced around the room, taking in the men who were watching them through eyes that were narrowed with suspicion. They sat silently, intrigued by the drama that played out before them, like an audience on the edge of their seat.

"Are you here to see Mrs Morecroft?"

He nodded. The murmur in the room started up again.

"If you're able to drive your car, you can follow me to the homestead and I'll dress your wound. You can wait for her there." Once he nodded, Phryne walked out the door, holding it open for him so he would hurry through before questions were asked. She closed the door quickly and puffed out a breath in relief. Despite the considerable bravado she displayed earlier, she was thankful for having a reason to leave, even if her night was going to get more awkward now.

Jack opened his mouth to say something. "Don't talk," she whispered as she pulled on his arm to walk him off the verandah, "there are eyes and ears everywhere." It was true, she had felt the burn of being watched since she arrived there, but she also wanted some time to think about what she would say to him.

Jack gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She walked a short distance in front of him so they didn't appear too familiar. She didn't want to be associated with the police quite yet. She paused on the way to the Hispano to inspect his battered car. It wasn't as bad as she thought. The grill was dented and one of the lights had been knocked free of its housing and dangled, broken and misshapen, by wires.

Phryne turned to see him gazing at her. She felt self-conscious and turned quickly to continue to her car. Once she was inside with the door shut, she closed her eyes, gripped the wheel and leant her head against the back of her hands. She was deeply rattled, mostly by Jack turning up unexpectedly, but also by her rare lapse of judgement in entering that room. She sat up and thumped her thigh with her fist. _Stupid!_ she spat through clenched teeth. She'd let the men get to her, probably because she felt off balance before she'd stepped inside, and the reason for that was sitting battered and bruised in his car, waiting for her to get going. Why? Why was he here? Had her aunt requested him or had he heard what had happened and insisted on coming in the hope of sorting things out between them? She suspected it was the former, with a little of the latter. The thought of her aunt meddling in her affairs made her clench her jaw in anger. She would deal with her later.

She turned the ignition and closed her eyes to let the comforting purr of the engine wash over her. She set off at an uncharacteristic crawl, she was even more wary of the big kangaroos now, which seemed to congregate on the roadsides at night, but also because she was putting off being alone with him for as long as possible. What on earth would she say to him? How would he be with her? Did he still have feelings for her?

Her anxiety increased with every passing mile. She drove past the homestead, turned onto the small gravel road to the cottage and parked by the steps. She got out immediately, her heart beating so strongly she could feel it pounding in her ears as she watched him pulled in beside her. He got out gingerly and arched his back to stretch before closing the door so he could lean against the car to face her. He crossed his arms loosely across his chest. They were silent for a few moments as they took each other in.

"That's quite a bump," she said in a low voice, "although I suspect you are faring better than the poor roo. Are you sure you're all right, Jack?"

"I'm fine," he said, waving away her concern. "Just a bump on the head." He was quiet for a few moments. "Not quite the meeting I had imagined all these months, but nothing ever seems to go to plan with you."

"Believe me, it's not one I imagined either," she said with a small smile. He was guarded, but didn't seem angry. That was a good sign. She relaxed a little. "Come on, let's go inside so I can have a look at that wound."

He hesitated and turned to look at her cottage. "Er … where are the others? There was no-one at the homestead when I arrived. When are they due back? They're expecting me tomorrow but I decided to do the drive in one go. Obviously a mistake," he said, twisting to look at his damaged car. "I should let them know I'm here."

Ah, so he had been specifically requested to assist with the case. Phryne wondered if he knew it wasn't her who had asked for him. If not, their conversation tonight would be more awkward now.

"They're dining at the Mayor's house in town. I suspect Mrs Morecroft wanted to give Aunt P more sophisticated company as a break from the station after all that's happened."

He raised his undamaged eyebrow. "And you?" he said, thrusting his chin at her. "Were you deemed too unsophisticated to accompany them?"

Phryne blew out a small laugh through her nose and smiled. She was thrown by his gentle dig at her. She assumed he would be sullen, as he had every right to be. "Perhaps not, given the company I chose tonight." She angled her head towards the cottage. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She was relieved when he pushed off his car to follow her. Once inside, she dumped her key on the table and turned on the lamps. Jack shut the door and leant up against it to watch her as she closed the curtains around the room. When the last of them were shut, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Even with her back turned, she knew his gaze never left her. She self-consciously ran a hand over her hair before turning and walking slowly to stand in front of him, stopping about six feet away.

He was still leaning against the door, completely still, hands in pockets, his gaze intense and unwavering. She was unnerved by his silence even though she understood it; this was her conversation to start. Trouble was, she didn't know what to say and was fighting the urge to fling herself at him, wrap her arms around his neck to hold him tight, whisper how sorry she was for what she did to him, then tend to his injuries before tucking him into his bed with a kiss to the forehead.

He pushed off the door and took a few steps towards her until they stood a short distance apart. They stayed like this for a few seconds, neither of them knowing what the acceptable greeting should be after so many months without contact.

Phryne cleared her throat and forced a smile. "Hello, Jack."

He nodded once, his eyes never leaving hers. "Welcome home," he said without emotion. Phryne's breathing became ragged and she broke eye contact to look at her hands. She pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head slowly. There was so much she needed to say to him but didn't know where to start. She looked up again with eyes that were glistening with tears and slowly shook her head.

"Jack …"

His features softened and he took a small step closer, reaching out to give her shoulder a brief but reassuring squeeze before letting his hand drop back to his side. This simple gesture was all it took to let her know there'd be no fighting tonight. More importantly, he stilled cared about her. She looked up at his swollen brow.

"I … I should tend to your wound."

"That's not necessary, I can manage. I should go and wait for them at the homestead."

"But you're here now Jack!" she said a little too quickly. "I have everything I need. Please, sit, have a drink and relax while I clean you up a bit. You've had a very long drive. It's the least I can do."

Jack looked away briefly as he wrestled with whether to stay or go. When he eventually looked back at her and nodded, she smiled in relief and held out her arm in the direction of the lounge.

"Come, sit by the light."

She walked ahead of him and gently positioned him on the lounge so he was facing the lamp. The room was chilly so she squatted with her back to him to light the fire that had been set earlier and sighed in relief. All good so far. Once the kindling had caught, she piled on more wood and stayed in front of the fireplace for a few moments to stare at the comforting flame. She breathed out slowly and stood to face him.

"Can I get you a whiskey?"

"Er, no, thank you." He looked at the jug and tea caddy on her sideboard. "I'll have a tea, if it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not." Strange for Jack to refuse whiskey, she thought. Perhaps he was too tired?

After putting the jug on, she bustled around the cottage in silence, handing him a glass of water and aspirins before gathering what she needed to tend to his wound. She was feeling more relaxed now; she always felt better when she had something to do.

She stood by the sideboard with her back to him as she waited for his tea to brew and poured herself a generous whiskey, downing it in one go then pouring herself another, which she also drank quickly. She poured the rest of the jug into the washbowl to warm the cold water she had put in earlier and found a clean facecloth. She was pleased he had agreed to let her tend to him, but she was still unnerved by his quietness. They had been awkward with each other before, but it never stopped them talking. He was probably waiting for her to start _that_ discussion. Not tonight, she decided. She'd clean him up, dress the wound if necessary, and send him to bed. Now was not the time to talk about what happened in England.

She handed him his tea, just how he liked it, then carried the bowl to the coffee table in front of him, seating herself beside him with the light behind her. The lounge was a two seater, so she had to sit with her knees pressed up against his. She twisted away from him to dip the washcloth in the warm water and heard Jack sip a few mouthfuls of tea and sigh. Was he as nervous as she was?

She closed her eyes to focus on the comforting crackle of the fire, but opened them quickly when she felt herself sway. The two large whiskeys on an empty stomach had gone straight to her head and she started to feel a little woozy. She squeezed out the water from the cloth and twisted to face him, cupping his jaw with her left hand to hold him steady while she gingerly dabbed at the dried blood on his wounded brow. Tonight, she was a nurse and he was her patient. Nothing more.

She pressed on his swollen forehead, causing him to grunt softly in pain and close both eyes, opening them again quickly when she turned to rinse out the cloth. He closed his left eye as she tended to him but his right eye remained open and fixed on her. She was grateful he didn't feel the need to talk, but she felt self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. He was reading her, analysing her expressions and mood to gauge how she was feeling about seeing him. She couldn't look back at him though, not when she was pressed up against him like that. She had felt something when they gazed at each other earlier, a dangerous feeling she had tried so hard to repress these last few months, a feeling she refused to name or acknowledge. She couldn't, not if she were to move on from him.

It was hard to see in the low light so she leant in close to inspect the wound that appeared as she wiped the dried blood away, turning her head briefly to cope with the pang she felt when she smelt his lingering cologne. Once she'd cleaned his swollen brow and determined his wound was a shallow cut, she gently wiped the rest of the blood off, slowly exposing the face that had appeared in her thoughts and dreams the entire time she was in England.

She turned around quickly to rinse out the cloth, hoping he was too sore and tired to notice how affected she was by his closeness. She blew out a breath and turned to finish the job, meeting his eye for the first time since she sat next to him. He gave her a brief, grateful smile and she felt her chest tighten. Smiling back, she picked up his hand to clean it, cradling his bloody paw in her much smaller hand as she worked on his fingers. She managed to clean two of them before she slowed and then stilled as her unguarded and whiskey-fogged mind was bombarded by memories of conversations, feelings and touches from the first time they met to their kiss at the airfield. She steadied her breathing and blinked away her thoughts returning to wiping his fingers, but she was too affected by the feel of his hand in hers, the warmth from his knees pressing into her thigh, and the familiar scent of his cologne. She looked up at him and saw that he too was breathing a little more heavily. She could feel herself unravelling and started to feel anxious. She let go of his hand, turning quickly to rinse out the cloth in the basin behind her so she could steady her breathing.

Once she felt more in control, she turned to wash his other hand, again avoiding his eye. The pressure of the washcloth on his palm caused his fingers to curl and touch her gently on the back of her hand and she stilled once again. He had driven all this way thinking she had requested his help, after all she had done to him. She felt something shift within her, a crumbling of the wall she had built around her heart, brick by heartbreaking brick. She held back a sob. Seeing him hurt, tending to his wounds and being reminded of the quiet love he had carried for her these last few years took her right back to how she felt about him before she flew off with her father.

She put the cloth on the table and looked at him, creasing her brow as she tried not to cry. She leant closer and cupped his face in her hands.

Jack pulled away from her. "What are you doing?"

Phryne stopped and stared at him with her mouth open. She closed it then opened it again, not knowing what to say.

"You were going to kiss me!"

"No! I … er … I …" Phryne stood quickly. She turned and walked to the fire to stand with her back to him to hide her shame.

He stood. "What the hell just happened? I drove all the way here after not hearing from you for months because I thought you were in danger and needed me." He straightened and put his hands on his hips. "Did you think trying to kiss me would be acceptable after everything that's happened between us? Is that why you asked me here? So we could kiss and make up? What on earth were you—"

"No, Jack!" she exclaimed, as she spun around to face him. Jack opened his mouth to say something, but she got in before him. "I didn't ask for you to come here."

Jack closed his mouth and looked confused. "What? What do you mean?"

"Aunt P did."

"Yes, I know. Are you saying you didn't ask her to ask for me?"

Phryne nodded. "I had no idea she'd done that until you showed up tonight. I was expecting an officer from Swan Hill tomorrow morning." She watched as his anger was replaced with shock and embarrassment. He sat down and groaned, burying his face in his hands.

She sat beside him and touched his knee only to have him jerk it away. He stood and took a few steps away before turning to face her. He was deeply embarrassed and his voice was shaky.

"I would never have come if I'd known that. I'm sorry that I put us both in such an awkward position."

Phryne took a step closer but he took an immediate step back from her. He gave her one last look and turned to walk stiffly to the door.

Phryne trotted after him. "Wait!"

He paused at the door with his hand on the doorknob.

"Where are you going?"

He turned his head to talk but wouldn't look at her. "I'll get a room at the hotel in town then drive back to Melbourne in the morning. I should never have come. Please tell your aunt I was unable to stay." He opened the door.

"No, Jack!" she cried, taking a step towards him. "Please don't go. Your car is damaged, you're injured and exhausted and are in no state to drive anywhere. We need you." She watched him hesitate, his hand still on the door knob. He straightened and stared into the darkness with a clenched jaw. She could tell from the rise of his shoulders that he was breathing heavily.

He spun around to face her. "You need me?" he spat, taking a few steps closer. Jolted out of his stupor, his exhaustion and pain were replaced with anger. "You didn't need me when you were off having fun in England." He narrowed his eyes and took another step closer. "After all these years of friendship, after everything that's happened, you treated me like dirt, but now you expect me to stay and help because you _need_ me?"

Phryne stood on the spot desperately trying not to cry. She hated herself for what she did to him and she deserved every angry word. She struggled to find something to say to him that would properly convey how she felt and why she did what she did but it was too complicated a discussion to start now. After watching her for a few moments, he turned and walked to the door.

"Please don't leave, Jack. I will tell you everything that happened in England."

She held her breath as he stood with his hand on the door again. Would he really leave after driving all this way? Without another word or a backward glance, he walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Only once the door had closed did she allow herself to properly cry. She tilted her head back, balled her fists and let out a long wail before quickly gathering herself and wiping her eyes. She ran after him and caught up to him just as he was getting into his car. He tried to close the door but she yanked it open again and stood between him and the door so he couldn't close it.

He started the engine. He wouldn't look at her. "Get away from the car, Phryne. I have nothing more to say to you." He sounded more sad than angry now.

"Jack, let me explain, I need to tell you what happened in England so you understand."

He looked at her in disbelief. "And there's that word again. It's all about you, isn't it? You need to tell me," he said snidely. "After all this time, now you want to explain why you wanted nothing to do with me? I can't believe the hide of you. Is that why you want me to stay after all these months of silence, because you need to get something off your chest? How dare you! If it's absolution you're seeking then I suggest you find yourself a priest. You won't get it from me." He leant forward to start the engine.

"Please Jack. I want you to stay because we need your help with the case. There's been many murders that the police aren't investigating. I understand your anger and confusion, but I had nothing to do with your assignment here. Aunt P would have asked for you because she knows you and trusts you. You're here now and are in no state to drive. Please stay. I am truly sorry about the misunderstanding and what happened back there. I was shocked to see you and had too much to drink. I wasn't thinking. As for my silence these last few months, it's not what you think. I can explain everything. If you stay, I won't talk to you about us and will stay out of your way. If you want to talk, and only if you want to talk, then I can explain everything."

Jack huffed out a wry laugh and shook his head. He turned to look at her. "Maybe you can explain everything," he said quietly, "but I don't want to hear it. I don't care anymore, Phryne. I'm so tired of this. I need to move on from you."

"Regardless of how you feel about me right now, you are in no state to drive, even into town. It's further than you think. Stay the night, Jack. That's all I ask. Please."

Jack closed his eyes and felt himself sway from exhaustion and the pain in his head. He touched his forehead and grimaced in pain. He sighed resignedly. She was right. He was not fit to drive anywhere. He opened his eyes and looked at her for a few seconds without speaking. "I will stay and leave first thing in the morning."

Phryne nodded, relived he wouldn't be driving on dark roads with one headlamp. "Can I at least finish dressing your wound?" she asked hopefully.

"No." He reached out to shut the car door, causing her to move quickly out of the way.

The slam of the door caused her to jump, even though she knew it was coming. She wiped away her tears as he reversed up the drive to the turning area, shifting gears quickly to drive away from her. She watched his car turn onto the road to the homestead and disappear behind trees just as she spotted the light from Cornelia's car lamps through the trees behind her cottage. Thank goodness they were home! Perhaps they could convince him to stay, although she wouldn't blame him one bit if he packed up and left, given how embarrassed and angry he was. She let out a long groan. What on earth was she thinking? Nothing. She wasn't thinking at all, she was shaken and drunk and she let down her guard. Time to rebuild that wall around her heart, she thought sadly. She had caused him great pain several times now, but never again. He deserved someone better, less complicated, someone who could offer him unconditional love. She turned and walked back into her cottage, knowing she was in for a sleepless night.

-o0o-

Jack reached the homestead and was greeted by worried faces as they took in the state of his car. Someone opened his car door and they gasped when he stepped into the light. The night soon erupted into commotion as he was pulled gently into the dining room where he sat comatose in a chair and stared at the wall as he was fussed over again. Mrs Morecroft spoke incessantly, but he heard not one word, uttered no sound, felt no sting from the ointment she applied to his wound. Several people moved in and out of the room until suddenly it was quiet and he was alone. The smell of a meal placed before him sometime earlier brought him out of his stupor and he picked at it, more out of politeness than hunger; he was more interested in the generous glass of liquor that sat by his plate. Afterwards, he was led to his room and before he knew it, he was lying under the covers with a pile of clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Although exhausted, he tossed and turned, trying to make sense of what had happened. He closed his eyes and shook his head in anger, not at her, but at him. No contact for months, yet he so readily believed she had gone over his head and used her aunt's connections to a highly ranked police administrator to make sure he couldn't refuse her. He sighed, he just couldn't shake her.

He thought about what he would say to the Deputy Commissioner. He'd be furious, of course, but he was prepared to cop that. Phryne obviously needed no explanation, but he would have to write a note for Mrs Morecroft and Phryne's aunt and wracked his sore brain to come up with a plausible reason for leaving straight after breakfast. He didn't like letting people down and felt considerable guilt about deserting them after they had expressed heartfelt gratitude that he had driven all that way to help sort out the mess that had them on edge since the body was found. He remembered acknowledging their gratefulness with a nod and small smile, but made no move to retrieve his bags from the boot of the car. Although it pained him to disappoint them, his need to flee from her overrode everything. With that decision made, he finally drifted off into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

A single, unwavering note from a Butcherbird heralding dawn woke him from his fitful sleep. He lay there blinking for a few moments then propped himself up on his elbow to reach for his watch, squinting at the hands and grunting at the earliness of the hour. He flopped onto his back and ran his hands over his bristly chin and up to his brow, sucking in a breath at the tenderness. Snippets of last night came and went quickly and he realised he couldn't remember driving the short distance from the cottage to the homestead. Was he in shock from the accident or did Phryne's drunken lunge send him into a spin. He shook his head slowly. What the hell was that about? He closed his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep so he couldn't think about the awkwardness of last night, but it was no use. He was too sore and too troubled for that.

He let out a frustrated groan, turned onto his side and curled into a ball. The birdsong was louder now as others joined in, but not loud enough to drown out the self-loathing that tormented him last night and again this morning. He was still too easily affected by her, too willing to believe she still needed him, too hopeful she still had feelings for him. Well, after last night's performance, perhaps she did.

He sighed as he thought about his decision to leave a note and flee before dawn. That wasn't going to happen. Not only was he given an order from the Deputy Commissioner, but the embarrassment of last night meant he'd forgotten to ask her about Wright. Maybe that's why she begged him to stay. Whatever the reason, he couldn't leave her with a murderer and a dangerous detective, he couldn't and he wouldn't, no matter how awkward it was between them. Although he couldn't recall all that happened last night, he could remember every word of the telephone conversation with the Deputy Commissioner yesterday morning:

"Why me?" he had asked breathlessly.

"Because you are needed there, Robinson, and are the right man for the job."

"With respect, sir, I am even further away from … where did you say the property is?"

"Other side of the Murray from Swan Hill."

"Er … that's a full day's drive away, sir. There must be someone local who would be suitable. Even Melbourne is closer than where I am."

"Look, Robinson," the Deputy Commissioner barked down the phone, not unkindly, "I understand your reluctance, this hasn't come at a good time, what with the transfer and all. I know it's a big ask making you drive all the way there when there are several stations nearby. It's not even our bloody jurisdiction, but you know these people and were specifically requested by a very generous donor to the Blue Ribbon Foundation, who also happens to be a friend of my wife's. Between you and me, she's not easy to say no to. Actually," he said, lowering his voice even though he sat alone in his office, "she terrifies me. Anyway," he boomed, back to his usual volume again, "I'll have Inspector Stevens act in the Geelong position until you take up the post permanently."

Jack sat at his desk with a hammering heart and gripped the receiver so hard his knuckles went white. He supported his head with his other hand as he considered the order. He shook his head slowly. He had been doing so well lately; all that hard, painful work to move on with his life undone in a phone call because she, for some unknown reason, wanted him there. He puffed out a breath. What choice did he have?

"You there?"

"Yes sir," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ay? What's that?"

Jack cleared his throat. "Yes, sir."

"Right. Well, you'll need to leave as soon as possible. You could stay at Swan Hill tonight and get there first thing in the morning."

He nodded. "I can be on the road in less than an hour."

"Good. I'll tell them to expect you first thing tomorrow. Also, I've had a bit of a chat with the Super in Deniliquin about the local detective in charge of the case. Wright's his name. Dodgy bastard, by all accounts. Wouldn't trust him as far as he could throw him, he told me, but he doesn't have enough on him yet. Something about him being surprisingly flush, and you know as well as I do that a detective's wage is nothing to write home about. That and some unsubstantiated accusations of rape. Keep your eyes open, will you? Let me know if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary. I don't care where they're from, I hate a bent copper. They give us all bad name."

Jack had stopped listening. _Unsubstantiated accusations of rape._ That sealed it for him. Maybe she'd already been threatened by Wright and needed him there? Or she'd suspected he was somehow involved and needed someone she trusted? Maybe he'd already touched her? He clenched his jaw at the thought of it. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. He had a reason to go now.

"That's good to know, sir. I'll keep my eyes open."

"Righteo, good. That's settled then. Oh, and another thing, Robinson ... I want to thank you for your service at City South. That's a tough division, and by all accounts you're the best Detective Inspector we've had there in a long time. I'll be honest with you, son, I refused your transfer application at first, but I was told you had personal reasons for wanting to move."

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head at the irony. "Er, yes, I do. And thank you, sir. I appreciate your kind words."

He hung up and buried his face in his hands. The revelation about Wright had taken the sting out of the request and he wasn't so furious with her any more, but he was still apprehensive and wary. After a few minutes, he rose slowly from his chair, grabbed his hat and coat, and went back to his room to pack.

-oOo-

Jack flung off the covers and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He blew out a breath. What now? He decided on a stroll to help figure out how he would cope with being there with her. He stood slowly, yawned and stretched, then groaned at the memory of his bags in the boot of the car. He would get them on the way back from his walk. He didn't bother with washing and quickly dressed in the crumpled clothes he had dumped on the floor last night before crawling into bed, smarting at his battered and dishevelled appearance when he looked in the mirror. Despite the unlikeliness of seeing anyone at that time of morning, he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it. Shrugging in defeat, he walked to the door.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped onto the verandah was the cool bite of the air. He sucked in a clean and crisp lungful, exhaling slowly as he took in his surroundings for the first time. As an early riser, the strange light of dawn was familiar to him, but he was unprepared for the activity and din. He walked to the edge of the deep verandah and watched birds of all shape, size and colour, chirp, squawk and chitter as they defended their territories and foraged for food. After watching them for a short while, he stepped onto a lawn that looked like a lurid lime rug among the browns and grey-greens of the dry countryside, then followed the contour of the land until he discovered a small path that took him to a lake so vast he couldn't see the other side. It was beautiful, serene, despite the noise and activity. He took another deep breath. He felt better already.

He walked off the path towards the mud and dense border of reeds, noticing recent footprints made by a more delicate shoe. He followed them back into the trees and smiled at the familiar river reds that grew around the rim of the lake, their massive limbs entwined like ancient and stately guards, protectors of that precious resource.

He walked up to one of the giant gums and ran his hand over the gnarled, mottled trunk flecked with bark, wondering what history was stored in that wood. He was immediately transported back to his childhood. _They're called widow-makers_ , his father had said to him, thrusting his chin towards the huge trees that grew by the river. They were fishing, just him and his father, which they did regularly in the holidays when he was a boy. _Never camp under one, son_ , his father had said earnestly, as if he were passing on an important life lesson handed down from his father and his father before him, _they drop their big limbs for no reason. Many a man's been crushed to death by those trees_. Jack had frowned in confusion; even as a child he wasn't easily swayed. _Why would they just fall off? There must be a reason._ His father had shrugged and cast his line, the plop of the sinker hitting the water signalling the end of discussion. Although intrigued, he had left that mystery unanswered, preferring to think nature held secrets.

With his hand still on the tree, he swivelled to look left and right, deciding which way to walk. He chose to follow in her footsteps, only because the narrow track through the sparse understory looked like the easier walk in his oxfords. He continued slowly on sandy ground, hands deep in his pockets, with only the birds for company. The treetops may have been busy, but the air was still, allowing the lake to glow, pale and glassy, as it reflected the morning light. He stopped to gaze at that vast body of stillness and was amazed at how seamlessly it melded with the sky. Without a horizon, it went on forever. He was mesmerised by its never-ending beauty until pelicans skidded on the surface to land, destroying the illusion. He stood for a while to watch the ripples make their way slowly towards him and managed a small smile. If he was going to be stuck somewhere with her, he could think of worse places.

He continued his walk, but with lighter steps. He felt calmer, more able to deal with the turmoil and confusion he assumed he would feel the whole time he was here with her. He stayed on the path that wove through the trees until he stepped into a clearing and froze. Phryne was sitting on a bench, thirty or so yards away, staring at the lake, just as he did a short while ago. Just the sight of her brought back all the angst he had managed to shed on the walk and his heartbeat picked up pace. He took a slow step backwards and stepped on a twig, snapping it loudly in two.

He widened his eyes as Phryne turned her head quickly at the noise and stiffened in surprise. She probably thought he'd be gone by now. She stood slowly, twisting her body to face him. Her arms hung rigidly by her sides and she clenched her hands nervously. Even from that distance he could see she was troubled. They were too far away to converse without shouting so they stood in silence, neither wanting to take the first step towards or away from each other. She opened her mouth to say something, closing it and taking a step towards him instead, stopping abruptly when he took a step back. He turned quickly and walked back into the embrace of the trees.

-o0o-

Jack walked along the verandah to the dining room, thinking about his encounter with Phryne. She looked wretched and wore the same clothes she had on last night. He checked his watch: six twenty-nine. Perfect timing, one minute until breakfast. He wanted to be there as early as possible to avoid seeing her again that morning. He was rattled by running into her like that and looked forward to a calming cup of tea. He sat with the door behind him so he could look out the window at the glimpses of lake.

He had barely sat down when a young parlourmaid arrived. She paused in the doorway, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He twisted in his chair to greet her.

"Good morning," he said with a smile, sensing she was apprehensive about walking into the room. Perhaps she was shocked by his appearance, or was like that with all strangers, waiting to gauge how they would react to the colour of her skin.

She smiled and seemed to relax. "Good morning, sir. Would you like a cup of tea? Cook is running a bit late, but I could make it."

He nodded. "That's very kind of you, thank you."

She seemed relieved. "Lemon or milk?"

"Milk."

He watched her scurry away and heard the thuds of her footsteps as she ran down the hallway, wondering what the rush was about. He reached for the paper, only to discover it was a copy of The Age he read yesterday morning before the phone call from the Deputy Commissioner. He flicked it away and reached for The Sydney Morning Herald, also from yesterday. He pushed that away too and sat back in his chair to stare out the window at the sparkle of lake between the leaves of the trees. After the shock of seeing her, he decided on the brisk walk back to his room that he would get the job done quickly so he could return to Geelong and start a new life. She would, of course, want to meddle in the investigation, but he would have to be firm with her. He promised himself there'd be no more relenting, no compromises, no more lingering feelings for her.

"Jack?"

He jumped and twisted to see Phryne standing in the doorway. She looked at him waiting for him to speak.

He was thrown by her sudden appearance. "Er … you're up early," he mumbled.

"Hardly. I'm just about to go to bed, actually." She leant against the door frame, as if standing upright was too much effort.

He nodded, noting the dark circles under her puffy eyes. "Well, are you going to sit down?" he asked, gesturing towards a chair opposite.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On you."

Jack frowned and then winced at the pain. He was tired of her games. "Just sit down, Miss Fisher."

Phryne frowned back. So, she was back to Miss Fisher then. "It's like that, is it?" She folded her arms and stared at him.

Jack shook his head and looked out the window to control his rising anger. "Isn't that what you want? A return to what it was like before?"

"Before what?"

He stood up abruptly to face her, causing his chair to lean back precariously before righting itself. "For god's sake, Phryne! Stop playing games and say what you want to say, otherwise go. Go to bed and leave me alone."

Phryne looked at him for a short while before pushing off the door frame and seating herself opposite him. Although she understood it, expected it even, she was disappointed he was still angry.

"Ah, of course, I get it now," he sneered. "You were waiting for me to tell you to go away so you could do the opposite."

"No I wasn't," she said indignantly, "I just didn't know if you—" She was interrupted by the maid arriving with Jack's tea.

"Morning, Miss Fisher. Would you like tea and breakfast?"

"Nothing for me, thank you Amelia. I'll have something later."

Jack wasn't going to let her ruin his appetite too, so he chose a big breakfast: eggs, sausages, tomatoes, and toast with marmalade. Once the parlourmaid left the room he turned back to Phryne, who was looking at him sadly. He stared at her without talking, waiting for her to break the uncomfortable gaze with words. When she didn't, he pulled the paper close to him and pretended to read it.

"Will you stay?" she asked in a small voice, only once he'd looked away.

He was silent for a few moments, wanting to make her wait for his answer. He wasn't above playing games either. "Yes," he said without looking up.

She quietly let out a breath. "Good. I'm very glad to hear it, Jack." He glanced up at her and she gave him a small smile.

"I don't plan on being here long so I'll be taking statements all day today. I'd like you to come by the study this afternoon."

Phryne blinked and opened her mouth, closing it again quickly. He had every right to be officious with her. Best not fight it. "Three o'clock? Does that suit you … Inspector?"

Jack kept his head down, still pretending to read. He flicked his eyes up at her and gave her a curt nod.

Phryne stood to leave. Jack didn't. "Well then, I'll see you at three."

He ignored her, closing his eyes and exhaling only once he heard her footsteps in the hall.

-o0o-

Jack opened the door to the study and stepped inside. He swivelled to take it in, his sour mood lifting a little when he realised a charming reading room lay underneath the fine layer of dust. Shelves overflowing with books stacked at all angles lined the back wall. A reading chair with a floor lamp behind it took up one corner, and the walls were covered in crudely sketched landscapes and amateurish but colourful oil paintings of birds. A window looked onto an ancient peppercorn tree, its weeping leaves almost touching the ground. Under the window was a large wooden desk with two chairs on either side. It looked just like the one in the interview room back at the station. He sobered immediately. He was about to give all that up and move to a new job in a new town. He stared at the desk and thought of Hugh, hanging his head in shame. He didn't yet know of the transfer because he couldn't bring himself to tell him he'd be losing a father figure just at the time he would most need one. He had convinced himself he would be of no use anyway; desperately wanting a family was no substitute for actual experience with babies or children. He pursed his lips and nodded. He would stay in touch, travel back in a few months after the baby was born to attend the christening.

He moved his fingers slowly over the table, making patterns in the dust as he mulled over the same questions he had stewed on for weeks. Was he doing the right thing? Had he overreacted to her withdrawal? Was he letting himself and others down by being too self-absorbed? Should he stay and get on with his life without her? Would he live to regret it if he left? He looked out the window and reminded himself that it would be a fresh start. It wasn't too late to find someone, if he put in the effort. Perhaps he could have a family of his own. At the very least, he would be busy and distracted from the reason he accepted the position in the first place, and that reason was due later today.

He fished out his handkerchief and wiped down both chairs and the table before starting on the rest of the room, occasionally moving to the edge of the verandah to shake out the dust. When he finished, he sat down next to the window, and thought about how he would play it when she arrived for her interview. He would be impassive, matter-of-fact, and would treat her like any other interviewee. There would be no talk of feelings, or anything of a personal nature. He nodded; he was the detective, she was a witness. That's how it needed to be.

-o0o-

Jack glanced at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes: just on three. He tried to quell his growing anxiety by looking back over his notes from the interviews. After breakfast, he had asked Mrs Morecroft to send her staff for interviews at half-hourly intervals. He was busy all day, stopping only to eat lunch that was delivered to him on a tray. He decided to start on his timeline; she would no doubt be late, as usual.

He had just opened a new page of his notebook when he heard two thuds on the door. He rose from his chair and opened it to see Phryne with a large tray of tea and assorted cakes and biscuits. He was both annoyed at her obvious attempt to curry favour and thankful for tea and something to eat, not that he would let her know that.

He stepped aside to allow her to enter, shutting the door and averting his eyes so he couldn't look at her trouser-clad backside as she leant over the chair to place the tray on the table. There would be none of that on this assignment. By the time he had walked to his chair, she had sat down and was looking around the room.

She smiled at him. "Cosy. Can I pour you a tea?" she asked, reaching for the pot.

Jack narrowed his eyes at her. He needed to set the tone of their interactions. "I know what you're doing. Don't think you can waltz in here with a tray of tea and biscuits that you bullied the cook to whip up to soften my stance with you. It's my investigation now, and no, you can't be involved."

"Jack!" she exclaimed, looking wounded. "I don't have an ulterior motive. You've been here all day, and I know how you love afternoon tea," she said gently, knowing it would remind him of their time together in her garden. "And I don't bully. I know you know that. I asked nicely. Very nicely, actually." She widened her eyes theatrically, leant back in her chair and folded her arms. "I'm quite sure no-one could bully the cook. She's terrifying! About six feet tall and almost as wide. Have you seen her? She's like a tree trunk with eyes."

Jack felt the beginnings of a smile and brought his hand up to his nose and over his mouth to hide it. He faked a cough and tried to set his swollen brow back into a frown but failed. Damn it! She had taken less than a minute to break him.

"All right," he said more gently, once he regained his composure. "Thank you for the tea and cakes. And yes, you may pour me a tea."

Phryne smiled as she filled his cup and loaded his plate with biscuits and Madeleines, just like she did on their afternoon teas together. She knew she had to take it slowly with him, he was as stubborn and dogged as she was, but she would get there eventually. She was determined to make things right.

After a mouthful of tea and a few cakes, Jack got down to business. "Right then," he brushed the crumbs from his fingers, "tell me what you know."

Phryne told him everything in great detail. When she described searching the dead man's pockets, she took the union ticket from her purse and slid it across the table.

"This is why I think he may be Victorian. He had a wad of them in his breast pocket. Perhaps he was a union organiser." She also took out folded papers and pushed them across the table. "Here are the notes I wrote after the examination. That man was no swagman, I'm sure of it."

She sat quietly while he read, using the time to gaze at him. The cut had started to scab over and the bruise on his brow had deepened to the colour of the dark circles under his eyes. He held the paper half an arm's length away and angled towards the window. She turned down the corners of her mouth, moved by his need for spectacles. Despite trying desperately to feel less for him these last months, he still quickened the beat of her heart.

After a few minutes, he placed her notes back on the table and looked up at her, nodding slowly. "Estimated time of death was based on lividity and post-mortem positioning of the arms across the body. You also theorised that he was killed by a single stab to the neck, delivered by a medium to tall right-handed person who, based on scuff marks on his shoes, dragged him backwards to the wharf." He paused, unsure whether to say what he was going to say. "Your notes are thorough and very helpful. Thank you."

Phryne beamed at his unexpected compliment.

"Tell me why you think whoever placed him in the cool room knew him."

"Well, his trousers and laces were covered in dirt, seeds and twigs. That's to be expected as he was found face down. But his jacket, face and even hair had been brushed clean. Dirt and twigs surrounded him on the floor, some of which were quite distant from the body, so I'd say he was brushed down quickly. Nothing on the floor around his trousers though, they remained dirty. Why do this unless you knew or revered the person? This also fits with the positioning of the hands. Someone who put him there or came in afterwards not only knew that man, but cared for him. I would bet my life on it."

Jack nodded. "Yes, the butcher and Harry put him there, but anyone could have gone in afterwards once they knew where he lay. Tell me about Harry. Why did you trust him so readily?"

"Gut instinct, mostly. I didn't have much choice. The police were due any moment, so I knew I had to get to the body before them."

"Why? Why did you need to see the body at all? Apart from an irresistible desire to meddle, of course," he said more gently than he could have.

She ignored his dig at her. "Because Harry told me on the way that the victim was an Aboriginal man, then mentioned something about the police never investigating their deaths. Well, you can imagine how that went down with me," she said widening her eyes. "Harry was obviously no fan of the police, so I decided to trust him on the spot. Have you interviewed him yet?"

"Yes, this morning. And you're right, he's no fan of the police, Victorian detectives included. He was surly at first, nothing unusual about that, until I assured him I would do everything I could to identify the victim so his family could bury him. He was more talkative after that, but he seemed uneasy. He seemed more sympathetic towards the Aborigines than the others I spoke to."

Phryne nodded. "Yes, I thought so too. Good to see that someone here doesn't treat them like second class citizens. Have you interviewed any shearers yet? About a third are Aboriginal, although none of them was in that room last night."

Jack narrowed his eyes at her. He'd forgotten about that. He could feel some of his anger return. "What exactly where you doing in that room anyway?"

Phryne was taking a sip of her tea and looked up at the change of tone. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me that. I was surprised you didn't ask last night. How did you know I was there?"

He frowned. "I'm a detective. I detect."

Phryne opened her mouth to say something but Jack cut her off.

"What the hell were you thinking? Alone in a room full of drunken men. Shearers of all people."

Phryne frowned at his anger and leant back in her chair. He had no right to be overly protective, given he wanted nothing to do with her. She folded her arms. "You're the detective. You tell me."

He looked at her for a few moments through narrowed eyes. "Thank you, Miss Fisher, that will be all for now."

She opened her mouth and sat upright. "You're dismissing me?"

"You're being uncooperative."

"Poppycock! Uncooperative would be keeping my notes to myself and investigating the murder alone." She paused to take a deep breath. "You agreed to stay and to see the case through. I am very grateful for that," she said more gently. "You're angry with me, I understand that, but we both want to solve this case and get home, so can we push aside our personal feelings for a while? If we work together, we will solve it faster. We work well together, Jack. I know you think that too."

Jack looked out the window and worked his jaw while he contemplated her words. After half a minute of agonising silence he looked at her. "Tell me about the detective." He was still undecided about telling her about the allegations against Wright. He didn't want to give her inside information, but he wanted her to be careful around him, knowing Wright, or any man for that matter, would have been taken with such a beautiful and urbane spinster. He wondered if he knew she was staying alone in the cottage.

Phryne exhaled heavily, relieved he didn't force her to leave, but she was uncomfortable at the mention of Wright and squirmed in her seat.

"Detective Wright?"

She wasn't about to tell Jack how he acted with her. She shrugged. "Small-minded bully who is used to getting his way and thinks women are only good for one thing. Nothing unusual about that, the police force is full of men like that," she said, raising her eyebrows at Jack. "Present company excluded, of course. I don't know if he knew the deceased, although I doubt his claim of finding nothing on the body was due to incompetence. He lied about the victim's death being an accident, though. Blind Freddy could have seen the stab wound on his neck." She leant forward. "I have three possible explanations for that." She paused and watched Jack raise his eyebrows, pleased he was still interested in her opinions. "One, he was trying to put me at ease—"

"Because you presented yourself as worried and vulnerable in the hope he would reveal something?" Jack interrupted.

Phryne pressed her lips together to stop herself smiling. He knew her too well. She was certainly not going to tell him about the flirting though. "I was quite concerned about there being a dead body on the property. I hoped if he thought I was just a dim-witted toff he might let something slip."

"And did he?"

"Apart from the lies? No, unfortunately. Anyway, another reason might be that he is a lazy bigot and thought the poor man was not worthy of his time. As I said, Harry let slip that the police don't investigate crimes against Aborigines. Now, the third reason …" She paused to watch Jack lean forward in his seat. "The third reason, of course, may be that he was involved in the murder and was covering it up."

Jack sat back and pursed his lips as he thought about her words. "What if Harry tampered with the body after you left and before Wright got there?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Harry helps manage the workers. Maybe he lied to you about not knowing him and didn't want his workers to know that a union man, if he was one, was on the property, so he removed the tickets. Or maybe he and Wright are both in on this. This would explain why he didn't speak up against Wright's lies when he knew he was murdered."

Phryne nodded her head. "Yes, he certainly tried to talk me out of going against Wright, but I don't think it's because he's in on it. Possible of course, but no, I don't think so. I think it's because he didn't see the point. He seemed to have genuine disdain for the police, as you've just experienced, and he certainly doesn't like Wright. Or his father, for that matter. Have you spoken to them?"

"Both unavailable, apparently." He looked down at a list of names. "I also still need to talk to the cook, the shearers, and a few jackaroos."

Phryne sat quietly for a few moments, wondering if she'd missed anything.

"Oh! I almost forgot." She rummaged in her bag for her handkerchief, which she placed on the table and unfolded gently. "I collected these from the bottom of his trousers and shoelaces. I don't know if they would be of any help in determining where he had been, but you never know. Burrs aren't my forte, I'm afraid."

Jack put his pen down and peered at the seeds, before making a small noise in his throat and nodding. "That was insightful of you." He picked up a small spikey one. "Noogoora burr. Very common around here and terrible problem for shearers. Gets caught in the wool, which is exactly what nature intended."

Phryne's mouth fell open and she gaped at him. "I'm very impressed, Jack! How did you know that?"

"I was helping Doctor Macmillan compile a forensic guide to seeds before I was sent to Geelong. I had the time, so was doing some research in the university library after work. We've only just started and have a long way to go, but it'll be a very useful tool when its finished." He sobered. He would be giving that away too.

Phryne smiled. "Mac told me you worked well together. I also heard you had the occasional drink together at the morgue after work." Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Lovely venue."

"Er … yes, we had the occasional drink."

Jack smiled at Phryne. He had certainly enjoyed working with Mac.

"Speaking of drinks …" Phryne said, shifting in her chair, "I thought perhaps we might have a drink afterwards."

Jack's smile quickly faded. "Why?"

"So we could talk."

"We're talking now."

"We're talking about the case now. I thought we could talk about us."

"Why?"

Phryne sighed in frustration. "You know why, Jack. Why are you being like this?"

Jack narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her. "You're asking me why I don't want to have a drink with you? Really? And, no, I don't know why. What's to talk about? We've said all that we need to say."

"No we haven't! There's a lot more to say. I can explain everything."

"Well, I don't want to hear it and I've nothing more to say. I've mulled over this for a while now and I don't want to anymore. This," he said, flicking his finger between them, "may be easy for you but it's not for me."

"No, it's not easy for me, Jack! Stop assuming it is. You have this idea in your head of how I am feeling, but you're wrong. That's why we need to talk."

"We've nothing more to talk about unless it's about the case." He stood and made a sweeping motion with his arm towards the door. "Thank you, Miss Fisher. You are free to go."

Phryne scowled at him and stood quickly. There was no use trying to convince him otherwise; she knew that look. She snatched her notes and bag and yanked open the door, turning to frown at him once more before shutting it hard behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you again everyone for being so engaged in this story and leaving wonderful reviews, especially the guests, as I can't thank you personally. To the guest who left a review on the last chapter that didn't get posted with the rest of the reviews, it was blank! Just letting you know. ;-)

So, finally, we have Phryne's story ...

* * *

Mrs Stanley and Cornelia sat together at the head of the dining table and gossiped about old friends who would be attending the party in a few days' time. They all had a couple of cocktails in the sitting room before dinner and moved to the dining room just before the first course was due to be served. Phryne had been solemn and quiet all evening, which didn't go unnoticed by her aunt. After being evicted from the study, she'd spent the rest of the afternoon moping in her cottage before falling asleep on the couch.

Phryne sat close to her aunt and looked at the place setting opposite her. Harry had gone into town so she assumed Jack would be joining them. She blew out a breath, another awkward encounter, no doubt. She was annoyed at him for shutting her out, but she knew that was unfair. Even so, she hoped he'd changed his mind about dinner and was eating in his room. She took a large sip of her wine. They couldn't ignore each for long, they'd have to talk eventually. She decided to avoid him as much as possible and wait for his anger to die down. There was no point pressing him, he was just as stubborn as she was.

Phryne recognised his footsteps in the hallway and groaned quietly. There was a polite knock on the open dining room door and the man of her thoughts stepped into the room.

"Right on time, Inspector. I do like a punctual guest," her aunt said with a smile before glancing at Phryne.

Phryne pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. She knew what she was doing. If ever there was a bad time to be playing matchmaker it was now.

"Hello, Inspector," Cornelia said warmly as he pulled out his chair. "I'm so glad you could join us. It's a shame you couldn't make it for cocktails. Would you care for a wine?"

Jack gave her a tight smile. "Please, Mrs Morecroft." He gave Phryne and her aunt a small nod. "Miss Fisher, Mrs Stanley."

Phryne let her eyes roam over him as he sat down at the table and fussed with his cutlery. His hair was still damp from a recent wash and he was wearing his best suit. She was annoyed at herself for knowing that. He looked up at her quickly and caught her looking at him. When they locked eyes, she felt a familiar strong tug in her belly.

"Have you spent much time in New South Wales, Inspector?" Cornelia asked him, breaking their gaze.

"Not much, no. I've not been in the outback either, but I like the countryside." He took a generous mouthful of wine, trying to disguise it as a more delicate sip. "I'm curious, Mrs Morecroft, what does Yarrowee mean?"

"It's an Aboriginal name for the river red gums that grow along watercourses. My father was very taken with them and they produce such beautiful timber. Perhaps you saw them on the drive up."

"Yes, I did. I also saw some giants on my walk to the lake this morning," he said glancing at Phryne. "I used to go fishing in rivers with my father as a boy, so I'm very familiar with them."

Cornelia smiled at him. "How lovely." She paused as their first course was placed in front of them. "So, tell me, Inspector, how long have you and Miss Fisher been collaborating? I must say, I didn't know lady detectives even existed." She turned to smile at Phryne. "Fancy that!"

Jack grimaced. "Well, that depends on how you would define collaborating, Mrs Morecroft," he said without looking at Phryne. "Miss Fisher has a tendency to go it alone sometimes."

Cornelia looked back at Phryne and raised an eyebrow. "And thank goodness for that!" she said, patting her arm.

Phryne gave her a grateful smile. "Someone has to step in occasionally to get the job done," she said, avoiding Jack's eye. "The police can get so bogged down in bureaucracy and upholding archaic laws. Sometimes I think they spend more time on paperwork than actually investigating crimes."

Jack pursed his lips and glared at her. "Laws exist for a reason, Miss Fisher," he said, failing to keep his tone light. "And you know as well as I do that paperwork is necessary." He looked down his nose at her. "I believe you've relied on it on more than one occasion."

Mrs Stanley watched their exchange with raised eyebrows. Well, she wasn't expecting hostility. "It's very good of you to come all this way to assist, Inspector," she said, wanting to change the subject. "Especially since you are very busy at the moment, I hear. How are you finding the position in Geelong? Will you be there long?"

Phryne had been watching him as her aunt addressed him. She was surprised to see him flinch and widen his eyes. He flicked his eyes at her briefly while he took a mouthful of wine then turned back to answer her aunt.

"Uh … yes, as it turns out I will be." He paused to wipe the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "I'm transferring to Geelong permanently to—"

"What?" Phryne interjected. She gaped at him.

He glanced at her and then looked back at Mrs Stanley. "To take up the position I've been acting in," he continued. "After I'm done here, I'll return to Melbourne to pack up my house."

Mrs Stanley was also shocked but quickly collected her thoughts. She glanced at Phryne, who looked pale and stricken, before turning back to Jack. "Well, that has come as a quite a surprise, Inspector. Melbourne will be losing a very fine detective."

Jack acknowledged her compliment with a nod and then looked at Phryne. She was still staring at him, blinking quickly, her brow creased with confusion. This was not how he wanted to tell her. "I was offered the position before you arrived home," he said to her gently. "I … like it there."

She lowered her eyes. "Oh, I see." She fell silent and stared into her wine. If she spoke now she would expose the emotion in her voice, but her silence was equally telling.

Mrs Stanley watched Jack gaze sadly at her niece and quickly look away when Phryne flicked her eyes up at him. Oh dear, she thought, what had she done? She knew her niece well enough to know she was hurting terribly. When Phryne turned to Cornelia, she saw that her eyes glistened with tears.

"Please excuse me," Phryne said quietly. "I need to powder my nose."

"Of course, dear." Cornelia said lightly, trying to hide her concern for her guest.

Jack stood politely as Phryne grabbed her small clutch and scraped back her chair. He forced himself to stare at the table so his eyes wouldn't follow her out the room. Of course, she didn't know. His letter telling her of his move would be waiting for her in Melbourne. He should have told her earlier, but with the awkwardness of last night, the case and their argument, he didn't have a chance.

Phryne held her breath as she walked briskly to the bathroom at the end of the hall. She burst through the door, closing and locking it quickly just as she let out a sob. She leant her forehead against the back of the door and closed her eyes, sucking in a few deep breaths to try and calm herself so she wouldn't cry further. Shock and anger were better than utter devastation so she cursed him through clenched teeth. Why? Why would he do this? Was it because of her? It had to be. Why else would he make such a drastic move? Why didn't he tell her earlier? She squeezed out a long groan. Because she was too busy lunging at him and insisting he talk to her. She shook her head. She couldn't do anything right.

After a minute or so, she calmed a little and washed her face with cold water to jolt her out of her despair. She looked in the mirror as she patted her face with the towel and glared at the reason he was moving away. She was furious at herself, but she was also mad at him for going to such extremes to get away from her. She widened her eyes as another reason sprung to mind. Perhaps he had met someone else … Was that why he liked it there? Phryne shook her head. No, no, no! She tried to distract herself by reapplying her powder. She fixed her lipstick and fussed with her hair before staring at herself in the mirror again. If he had met someone, she had no recourse and she'd have to let him go. If that wasn't the case, then she'd do everything she could to talk him out of it. She puffed out a breath and felt calmer, ready to face him again.

When she entered the dining room, her aunt and Cornelia turned to look at her. Cornelia smiled but her aunt looked at her with concern. Jack stood politely, again avoiding her eye.

"I was just telling the Inspector, my dear, about the storm that's heading our way," Cornelia said to break the tension.

Phryne smiled and nodded. "I'm pleased to hear it, Cornelia. You could certainly do with some rain."

They talked about the drought and the storm up stream until the main course was served. Cornelia chatted with Jack about the history of the station, but Phryne and her aunt were unusually quiet. When he wasn't guzzling the wine, Jack politely conversed, stealing the occasional look at her. Immediately after dinner, which she picked at, Phryne declared she was feeling peaky and would have an early night.

Jack quickly put his drink down. "I'll walk you back to your cottage."

Phryne turned to face him but didn't look him in the eye. "Thank you, Inspector, but I'll be fine. It's only a short distance. Please, stay here and have the pudding." She flicked her eyes up to his. "I believe it's one of your favourites." She tried to smile but gave up and stood quickly to leave.

"Phryne dear," her aunt said, placing a hand on her arm, "I don't think it's wise for you to be out walking alone at night with a murderer on the loose. Let the Inspector accompany you back safely, for my sake and yours." She gave her arm a gentle shake. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy my pudding knowing you may be in danger," she joked. "We'll save some for the Inspector, don't you worry."

Phryne closed her eyes briefly as she let out a breath. She turned to face him but again didn't meet his eye. "Very well, Inspector, but I would like to leave now." She said goodnight to Cornelia and gave her aunt a peck on the cheek before walking briskly out the room.

Jack finished his wine in one gulp, thanked Cornelia for the delicious meal and stood quickly to go after her. Cornelia laid her hand on his arm to stop him. "You must still be tired and sore after your accident, Inspector." She patted his arm. "No need to rush back, we will keep the pudding for your morning tea tomorrow."

He gave her a small smile. He felt uneasy about the public display of awkwardness between him and Phryne, but he was thankful for her subtle way of letting him know she understood the situation. "Thank you, Mrs Morecroft, I will probably have an early night too. I look forward to my morning tea tomorrow." He nodded his goodnight to Mrs Stanley, who gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded back.

There were doors at each end of the hallway, but he'd heard the front door close behind her so he walked quickly out of the dining room and onto the verandah to look for her. She was nowhere to be seen, of course; Phryne Fisher waits for no-one. He wondered if she'd taken the road or the path through the trees by the lake. The path, of course. He knew where she was. He ran across the lawn and down towards the lake in the hope of catching up to her, thankful for the gibbous moon that helped him navigate the narrow path through the trees at a trot.

He emerged into the clearing and stopped abruptly when he saw her, just like he'd done that morning. She sat hunched on the bench with her body angled away from him. He paused to catch his breath before walking slowly towards her, calling out her name softly when he was closer so he wouldn't startle her. She didn't respond so he sat with his body angled towards her. She wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief, and then pressed it tightly to her mouth. Despite being mad at her, he wanted to reach out and touch her, place a conciliatory hand on her shoulder. He waited a few moments, but when she didn't turn around, he shifted to the edge of the seat so he could see the side of her face.

"I was going to tell you, Phryne, but I didn't get a chance. I'm sorry you found out that way." He paused, but when she said nothing, he continued. "I'm sorry you're upset, but what could I say? I wasn't going to lie." When she still didn't respond, he grew frustrated. "For Christ's sake, Phryne! Why are you being like this? I thought you'd be relieved to know I'd be moving away."

Phryne spun around to face him. Her face was streaked with mascara. "Relieved?" she spat in between sniffles. "How could you possibly think I'd be relieved at the thought of you moving away?"

Jack sat back to distance himself from her barrage and clenched his jaw. He shook his head. He wasn't feeling so sorry for her any more. "I don't understand you. One minute you don't want anything to do with me and now you're upset because I'm moving away. Which one is it?"

Phryne shook her head and turned away from him. She took in some deep breaths to try and calm herself. "I'm sorry … I can't ... not now …I need to be alone."

Jack scoffed and leant back against the seat. He folded his arms and crossed his legs. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until you talk to me."

Phryne turned to glare at him.

"You heard me," he said quickly before she could say anything. "I'm not leaving you here to wallow in whatever it is you're feeling. I want to know what's going on with you. Why are you so affected by the idea of me moving away when you clearly wanted nothing to do with me these last few months?"

Phryne frowned at him and shook her head in disbelief. "Why do you think? Because I care for you. Yes, I didn't write to you as often as before, but not because I didn't want anything to do with you. That's just not true. You are first and foremost my friend, Jack. That means more to me than anything else. Isn't that what we were to each other? Good friends?"

Jack scoffed again. "Good friends don't suddenly go cold on someone without telling them why. Why'd you do it? You cut me off with no explanation. I didn't press you for answers, I just let you get on with your life. But not again, and not when I'm sitting here next to you. I'm not leaving until you explain everything."

Phryne sighed. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose before turning to him. "I didn't cut you off, I just got busy and didn't write as often."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Fine, so you didn't cut me off. But you didn't tell me you were coming home either. Some friend you are." He twisted on the seat to face her. "Your letters changed. You changed. Can you blame me for thinking something happened over there that made you feel differently about me? _Wait for me_ ," he mocked. "How else was I meant to interpret that? I thought you had feelings for me, I was certain of it, but I sure as hell don't think that now."

Phryne turned away from him and looked at the lake. Of course he'd think something happened, isn't that what she wanted? Her heart beat strongly and she was suddenly anxious about having the conversation she'd been pushing to have, mostly because talking about her feelings never came easily to her, but also because she expected to find out he had met someone in Geelong. Best get that out of the way. After blowing out a breath, she turned to him.

"Is that why you accepted the transfer? To get away from me?" She hesitated. "Or have you met someone else in Geelong?"

Jack jerked his head back and huffed out a wry laugh. "The hide of you! Someone else? How dare you ask me that!" He shook his head and threw up his hands. "Would you feel better if I said yes? Would that ease your conscience? Because it's pretty obvious to me that you clearly did at that ball. Who was he? One of your father's business associates or was he landed gentry? Or was it one of the servants? Maybe all three? Anyone's fair game with you!"

Phryne squeezed her eyes shut at the insult then looked down at her hands in her lap. She was quiet for a while as she tried to steady her breathing. Jack was just about to give up and leave when she looked at him and shook her head. "No, Jack."

He frowned. "No what?"

Phryne tilted her head back and blew out a breath. "No, I didn't meet anyone. Well, I did meet someone, but it's not what you think."

"Oh? You know what I think now? Tell me, what do I think?"

"You just said it yourself. You think I went cold on you because I took a lover at the ball."

It was Jack's turn to be quiet. "Isn't that what happened?"

Phryne shook her head vigorously. "No, that's not what happened. Not at the ball or anytime while I was away."

Jack opened his mouth and then closed it again. He certainly wasn't expecting that. "Then why? What happened that made you stop caring for me?"

Phryne sighed heavily and turned away from him. Her breathing became ragged. She shook her head slowly before looking at him. "I never stopped caring for you, Jack. You have to believe me when I say that." She paused to wipe her cheek before meeting his eye. "It was quite the opposite, actually," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I …"

She squirmed and blew out a breath. How could she tell him what she was feeling in England? Where would she start? Would he be angrier when he learnt the truth? She lifted her head to look at the refection of the moon on the lake. The frogs were calling loudly but she'd only just noticed them. She shifted on the bench to face him. He was silent as he waited for her to continue.

"Yes, I wanted you to wait for me. The few months we had together before I left were so lovely, and then our goodbye was disastrous, so when you turned up at the airfield and kissed me, I …," she smiled at the memory, "I was so happy I felt giddy, even if it was a little awkward with my father bellowing from the plane." His gaze was too intense, so she broke eye contact. "I was ecstatic, actually." She flicked her eyes up at him briefly. "Your kiss was everything I'd wanted it to be and more. I got on that plane feeling like everything was right again, that everything would be all right. My journey, my family …" She paused to look at him. "Us. I missed you the moment I flew off in that plane," she said, finally able to look at him. "It was manageable at first; the letters and telegrams helped, and getting my father home without throttling him proved to be a good distraction. It was only once we arrived home and I saw that he and my mother would work things out that I stopped thinking about them and thought about me and my life." She looked down at her hands in her lap and paused, still unsure of how much she should tell him.

"Go on," Jack prompted gently.

Phryne looked at him and then back at her hands. "I felt so strange over there, stranger than I'd ever felt anywhere, even during the war. It was like I didn't know myself anymore." She huffed out a wry laugh. "I felt … odd, thick headed, slow witted. I thought I was coming down with something at first, but then a letter from you would arrive and I'd feel like myself again. I'd write back that day, post it, and then the melancholy would set in until your next letter arrived. And on it went." She shrugged. "You reminded me of home, so I assumed I was homesick, something I'd never felt before." She paused to take a deep breath. "Stupid, slow, obtuse me. It took me a while to work out I wasn't homesick at all." She looked at him quietly for a few moments. "I wasn't pining for home, I was pining for you." She felt awkward again and looked back at the lake. "Me," she scoffed, shaking her head, "pining for a man!" She turned to look at him again. "You were all I thought about. I missed you so much it affected me physically."

Jack opened his mouth but quickly closed it. He was stunned and didn't know what to say.

"Once I realised I was lovelorn, I was shocked," she continued. "I don't yearn for men, never have, so I realised I'd fallen for you more deeply than I thought possible. That forced me to think about what that meant for me, and for us once I returned home. I quickly realised a romantic relationship with you, or anyone for that matter, could never work." Phryne looked away from him again, apprehensive about what she was going to say next. "After that, my feelings for you felt like a burden. I felt shackled … heavy and slow, like I was wading through life. I wanted my old life back, I wanted to be me again. I decided I had to stop feeling for you in that way so I could go back to living the way I'd grown accustomed to." She flicked her eyes up at him then looked away quickly. "So, I went to the ball in the hope of …" She paused and shook her head, unable to get the words out.

"In the hope of meeting someone?" Jack offered.

She nodded, but couldn't look at him. "The offers were there. I encouraged intimacy, but … I just couldn't … I couldn't go through with it. He was furious and called me all sorts of—"

"Did he hurt you?"

Phryne shook her head. "No. He just bad-mouthed me to my father's business partners. My father was ropable, of course, but I didn't care, I was angrier at myself than he could ever be."

"For what you did?"

Phryne looked at him and shook her head. "No Jack. For what I didn't do. I didn't enjoy the ball. I didn't want to socialise, and I couldn't …" She huffed out a breath. "I was angry at myself for being weak. For not being me. For not being able to move on from you, no matter how much I tried." She trailed off and looked up at him. "So … yes, I withdrew from you in the hope that my feelings would lessen so I could be myself again."

She watched him with a hammering heart as he narrowed his eyes at her, pressed his lips together and tightened his jaw. She prepared herself for what was coming, but he turned away from her to look at the lake.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," she said quickly. "I knew you'd think that I'd found someone else, and I let you. I let you, knowing how much you'd be hurting. I was unable to stop feeling for you so I wanted you to stop feeling for me. I thought that was the only way out. I hated myself for doing that … I still do. You deserved to know how I was feeling. I still wanted your friendship, but I was a fool to think I could do that to you and that everything would go back to being how it was before we kissed. Yes, I pushed you away, but I didn't think you'd pack up and leave home to get away from me."

Jack put his elbows on his knees and cupped his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into his scalp, shaking his head and groaning in frustration. He was quiet for half a minute or so before sitting up to face her.

"So, these _strange feelings_ of yours _,"_ he said snidely, "made you uncomfortable, so you thought the best thing to do was make _me_ suffer, knowing I'd think you'd found someone else and leave you alone." He paused to glare at her but she sat staring at her hands in her lap. "Look at me, Phryne!"

She raised her head slowly to look at him.

He leant closer. "How could you?" he spat. "What kind of person treats someone they supposedly have feelings for in that way?" He shook his head and stood up. "What is wrong with you?" He watched as her breathing increased and she started to cry again. "Well, congratulations. Your plan worked!"

He turned abruptly and walked the edge of the rise so put some distance between them. He wanted to throw his head back and roar loudly in anger, hurl rocks, kick something, slam his fist down hard. But he didn't do any of those things. All he could do was quietly fume. All those damn months thinking they had a chance at love. All those ridiculously romantic notions about her coming back to settle down with him. All those nights by the fire, pouring over her damn letters looking for clues that she still loved him. For what? To be discarded because she didn't like how she felt when she eventually realised she loved him more than she could bear.

She loved him more than she could bear.

Jack sighed and closed his eyes. He unclenched his jaw, unfolded his arms, and put his hands in his pockets. After taking a deep breath, he hung his head and stared at his shoes. She loved him, even if she never used that word. That's why she moved to kiss him last night in her cottage. That's why she was devastated when she learnt he was moving away. He shook his head slowly. All this time he thought he was the weak one, but here she was, just as lousy at letting go of him as he was of her. Even now, after everything, he had to grudgingly admit to having lingering feelings for her. He understood why she did what she did. But at least he was capable of telling her how he felt. He huffed out a wry laugh as he thought of the time he tried to distance himself after admitting he was uncomfortable with what he was feeling for her. Ha! Fat lot of good that did. He nodded slowly. Moving away was the right thing to do.

Phryne had let out the breath she held as she watched Jack's rigid and angry silhouette slowly relax, until he stood slightly hunched with his head bowed. She waited a few moments before taking a few steps towards him.

"You have every right to be angry with me for not telling you about how I was feeling, hate me even for being so cruel and self-absorbed, but please don't move away. I will stay out of your life, Jack. I won't take cases that will bring me in contact with you, and maybe over time, and only if you want to, we could be friends again." Her voice started to catch in her throat. "I can't bear the thought of you moving away. I just can't."

He turned and looked at her struggling with guilt and whatever else she was feeling. He wasn't so angry any more, just bone tired and very, very sad at the hopelessness of their situation. He walked back and stood in front of her.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I need to move on from you now, Phryne. I've had a lot of time to think about my life these last few months. I'm an unmarried, middle-aged man with no family of my own. I became a bit of a hermit after the war, and then my wife left me. I've been on my own for so long, I began to think that was it for me: a life of work and solitude, just me and my books. But then you came along. I tried hard not have feelings for you, I knew you were complicated and completely unobtainable, but after denying it for so long, I thought, well I hoped, you had the same feelings for me. After our kiss and your letters, I knew you did. Can you blame me for wanting something more with you?" He took a small step closer. "I don't want to be alone any more, Phryne. I've already turned down an offer of love for you, so if I'm in another place, and without you in my life, I may have a chance of loving someone else, someone who's willing and capable of loving me back. I had serious doubts about my ability to love anyone before I met you."

Phryne reached out and held his hand in hers. Jack looked down at their entwined fingers. He should pull his hand away; physical contact got them into this mess in the first place. He sighed and placed his other hand on top of hers.

"Jack, you are eminently lovable," she said, surprised by his intimate gesture. "Don't think for a second that this was, or is, an easy decision for me. You are the only person I have felt this way about for as long as I can remember."

"Then why? Why did you do it?" he said, coming to his senses and pulling his hands away.

"Because I thought it would make things worse if you knew how I felt about you. Would you have walked away from me, from us, knowing how I felt about you, even if I said I couldn't be with you? Would you have done that, Jack? Or would you still want to see me, still have feelings for me, still hope that I may change my mind? You must have known I'm not the settling-down type. I won't ever marry, so there was no point in pursuing a romantic relationship because I knew you'd never agree to an affair."

Jack thought about her words. She was right, but he didn't want to let her know that. "We'll never know now, will we?"

They looked down at their feet, neither of them knowing what else they could say. Jack was suddenly very tired. "Come on, I'll walk you back to your cottage."

They walked back the short distance in silence. Phryne was exhausted, but relieved to finally get it all off her chest. She wondered what Jack was thinking. She turned to him when she reached the steps to her verandah and hesitated, wanting to again apologise for what she had done, but nothing she could say would undo the heartache she had caused him. "Thank you for walking me back," was all she could manage. She felt wretched, rotten to the core and she twisted her mouth to stop the tremble in her bottom lip.

Jack watched her face contort as she held back tears. He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but also as a gesture of reconciliation.

Phryne looked up at him. "You are being kinder to me than you ought to," she said in a wavering voice.

"I am being as kind as I want to be, Phryne. Besides, my mother taught me to never go to sleep without resolving an argument first. Don't beat yourself up too much." He cocked his head. "A little bit, perhaps," he said with a brief smile. "Self-loathing will always be harsher than anything I could mete out. I'll be fine. And you will be too."

Phryne shook her head and took a small step towards him. "I'm not so sure about that. I've managed to push away the most special and kindest man I know. Could you ever forgive me?"

Jacked looked at her quietly. He nodded. "Eventually."

Phryne bowed her head. She deserved that. She looked up at him. "Can we be friends again, Jack? Just while we're here together? I don't expect you to keep in touch once you move." Phryne held her breath while she waited for his answer.

Jack took his hand off her shoulder and dug his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked away from her and pursed his lips as he thought about what he would say. "How about we start as colleagues and see how we go."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "You're asking me to assist you with the case?"

Jack nodded. "You did very well with your examination and notes. And I could do with the help." He smiled. "Our last investigation together." His smile quickly faded as he realised the enormity of what he'd just said.

Phryne took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Our last investigation," she whispered in a wavering voice. They gazed at each other, both of them fighting the familiar pull of attraction.

Jack blinked quickly and took a step back from her. "Sleep well, Phryne. I'll need you up bright and early in the morning for more interviews."

Phryne nodded. She forced herself to smile at him. "Goodnight Jack." Her smile quickly faded as she watched him nod once before disappearing into the darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

This took a while to complete as I have hit a busy patch at work and need to put in more hours, hours I would normally spend writing. I am hoping to have the next chapter done within the fortnight, if possible, but it may be a bit longer.

Thank you again for your fabulous reviews. I'm chuffed that you all take the time to let me know what you think of the story. I'm also grateful that you seem to be coping with its glacial pace. ;-)

* * *

Jack sat at the dining table and stared at the newspaper, lost in thought. He'd slept fitfully, haunted by what she'd said last night, but also by what he'd said back. He was deeply ashamed of his outbursts; he'd never talked to his ex-wife that way, not even at the peak of their troubles. Maybe he was too numb back then, too broken. He blew out a breath and shook his head. Well, not any more. Loving Phryne had dragged him out of a dispassionate existence, turned him into someone who was impetuous, impulsive. Alive.

When he wasn't wallowing in guilt, he was mulling over her words. Yes, what she did was selfish and wrong, but he wasn't angry anymore. He had to admit it made sense. Of course Phryne Fisher would be uncomfortable yearning for someone. She would have felt she was lacking in some way, incomplete, like he did once he let himself love her then constantly looked for signs she loved him back.

He shook his head. Even though he understood her reasoning for doing what she did, he was still struggling to accept the depth of her feelings for him. In all the months he spent pouring over her letters to try and make sense of her withdrawal, he never once thought it could be because she loved him with an intensity that changed who she was, or who she wanted to be. He shouldn't be giving himself too hard a time for getting it so wrong. Who could blame him for assuming she had shared a man's bed. She never did hide her promiscuity from him.

He certainly understood her better now, but he also learnt something about himself, something that had plagued him since the first spark of attraction: he considered himself unworthy of her. Why didn't he ever consider that she was struggling with loving him? He had to stop thinking like that. He _was_ lovable, he reminded himself. A beautiful Italian woman, and now Phryne, showed him that.

He huffed out a wry laugh. What a mess they were in, a mess both of them created. He nodded slowly. He should have known better. Deep down, despite loving her with all his pitiful and fragile heart, he always knew they couldn't have a future together. At least now he knew she thought that too. How could they? She answered to no-one, was fiercely independent, and never hid her disdain for marriage. He ignored all the signs, of course. He was too busy feeling human again after waking from a decade of emotional torpor.

He groaned and rubbed his brow. It was a good thing he was moving away; their unconsummated attraction would eventually drive him batty. He clenched his jaw at the unfairness of their situation and banged his fist on the table, starting at the clatter of crockery. He felt cheated, wrongly done by. He wasn't just walking away from the love of his life, he was losing a companion, his dearest friend. She was his sounding board for work matters, his intellectual sparring partner, and damn good company. Her free-spirited and irrepressible nature, although frustrating at times, was invigorating and what initially attracted him. That and her looks, of course. And her vulnerability. He huffed out a wry laugh. A trait she herself despised. What poor, wretched soul thinks loving someone is a weakness? Only Phryne could think that way.

He heard a creak in the hallway and placed his lukewarm tea on the table by his half-eaten breakfast for the parlourmaid to collect. The footsteps stopped in the doorway. It was Phryne, he could feel her. He turned just as she cleared her throat nervously. He smiled warmly and watched her let out the breath she was holding. She smiled back at him; a heartfelt smile that reached her eyes and lit up her face. His heart skipped a beat. She looked like the Phryne he remembered before this mess came between them.

"Morning, Jack!" she said with all the enthusiasm she could muster after a night without sleep. She swept into the room to join him. "Don't get up." she said, briefly touching his shoulder on her way past as he started to rise. She sat near to him but around the corner of the table with her back to the window to give him some space.

Jack looked at his watch and raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

Phryne narrowed her eyes and smiled at him. "I can get up early when I need to, you know." She felt the teapot. It was warm, but quite full. She wondered if he'd been sitting there for a while mulling over what happened last night. Of course he had. She certainly did, almost all night and all morning. After pouring herself a cup, she looked at the newspaper he was reading. He was still on the front page. "Yesterday's news?"

He nodded with a grunt. "It must cost quite a bit to transport them all the way here."

"Yes, we're certainly a long way from civilisation," she said, widening her eyes briefly. "I don't think I've ever been to such a desolate place."

Jack quirked his undamaged eyebrow and smiled. "Oh? Surely you've travelled to more inhospitable lands. Haven't you trekked across a desert or two?"

"Actually, I have," she said, relaxing into the conversation. "But the places I visited were too populated to ever feel desolate. Even the deserts of Morocco were teeming with people. And camels," she said with a small shudder, "there were quite a few of those dreadful creatures. Shame, really," she said, putting an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand, "I was quite drawn to them at first with their lovely long eyelashes and haughty air."

Jack scoffed playfully. "Long lashes and haughty air?" He brought his teacup to his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers. "Sounds like someone I know," he murmured before taking a sip.

Phryne grinned. She loved it when he poked fun of her. This felt just like one of their afternoon teas in her garden. She was relieved he was making an effort to move on. Perhaps they could be friends after all.

"Well, that's what I thought too …," she said, leaning back in her chair, "until it spat on me!"

Jack chuckled. "Uh oh." He raised an eyebrow. "Did you spit back?"

"Jack! Of course not!" she said, grinning. "That would be most unladylike." She stuck out her chin and leant towards him, waiting until he leant in too. "I ate it."

Jack barked out an unexpected laugh and then chuckled as he sat back in his chair, shaking his head at her. "You didn't!"

Phryne arched her eyebrows at him theatrically and shrugged a shoulder. "Oh, but I did. I was visiting Morocco with a friend who was writing about her travels. We were invited to have tea with the Sultan." She gave a small shrug. "Charming, but overly concerned about two women travelling alone," she said, rolling her eyes. "After tea he took me aside and offered us protection from the Berbers if I … well, you get my drift. You can imagine how I felt about that! I politely declined, of course. Not my type at all, and his harem was already overflowing with concubines, apparently. Anyway, we were the special guests for a lavish dinner that night. Unfortunately, he gave me the honour of choosing a beast to be slaughtered for the main course. I think he thought I'd be thrilled and ever so grateful and he'd be in with a chance." Phryne leant forward and widened her eyes. "Little did he know it was a great big fat chance. I was horrified of course, but to refuse him would have been most impolite." She shrugged. "The banquet was amazing, but my favourite was the camel tagine with almonds, prunes and honey. Revenge was indeed very sweet."

She took a sip of her tea and watched him as he grinned at her story. He gazed back at her for a while, eventually breaking eye contact to pick up his cup.

Phryne folded her arms on the table and leant towards him. "I'm so pleased we're talking again, Jack." She reached for his hand that was resting on the table close to her, quickly withdrawing it when she heard footsteps in the hall. A few moments later the parlourmaid entered the room.

"Good morning, Miss Fisher. Would you like tea or coffee? Cook will make you some eggs and sausages, or toast and marmalade if you like."

"Just tea and toast please, Amelia," Phryne said, smiling at her.

The maid nodded. Pull on that cord," she said, indicating the bell cord that hung from the ceiling, "if you need anything else." She piled Jack's breakfast plates onto a tray and left the room.

"I've always wanted to visit Africa," Jack said, wanting to continue their conversation, his hands safely tucked under the table on his lap. "I was keen on Egypt, of course, but I think our run in with Foyle may have cured me of that. I'm unlikely to ever travel abroad again, so I'll have to make do with books and my imagination. And," he said, raising an eyebrow and inclining his head towards her, "the stories of others."

Phryne was saddened by the thought of him never travelling. She wanted to reach out to touch him, but refrained. She didn't want to overdo it.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Jack. I couldn't imagine a life without travel. If you could, where would you go?"

"India," he said without hesitation. "I loved Kipling's stories as a child, which I read in magazines." He too put his elbows on the table and leant forward, lost in thought for a few moments. "They came in handy during the war as I had something to talk about with the Indian soldiers I fought with." He pursed his lips and looked down at the table for a few moments. "Friendly people. Brave and proud, too. Such wonderful storytellers." He looked back at her smiling at him. "I've wanted to travel there ever since. I assume you've been?"

"I haven't, actually, but I've always wanted to. Desperately so after reading _A Passage to India_ a few years ago. I did stop off briefly in Ceylon on the way over on the ship. It was quite charming and the beaches were lovely, but I hear India is so much more wonderful. Top of my list would be the Lake Palace in Udaipur and the ancient forts of Rajputana. I've always wanted to see them."

They smiled at each other, pleased they'd discovered another common interest that allowed them to engage in pleasant and interesting conversation rather than dwell on last night's awkwardness.

"Well then, Miss Fisher," he said, folding the paper and pushing it aside, "perhaps—"

"Jack." She reached out again, this time making contact before he could pull his hand away. She braced herself for rejection as he looked at her hand on his then lifted his eyes to look at her. "Please don't call me that," she said gently. "This is hard enough as it is." To her surprise, he didn't pull his hand away. "This has been so nice," she continued. "I've missed our chats terribly."

Jack stopped fighting the urge to touch her and placed his other hand over hers. He nodded and rubbed his thumb gently over her knuckles, but didn't meet her eye.

"I've missed them, too," he said, looking up at her with brief smile. He took a deep breath. "I … uh," he hesitated and looked back down at their hands. "I'm sorry for what I said last night." He looked at her again and shook his head. "I said some dreadful, hurtful things. I was …"

"Jack, no. Please don't," she said quickly, squeezing his hand. "There's no need to apologise. I understand completely. Everything's become so complicated and difficult for us. I'm the one who behaved badly. You had every right to say what you did."

Jack clicked his tongue and squeezed her hand back. "What I said was cruel, Phryne. That's never right, and I'm very sorry for that."

Phryne nodded and gave him a grateful smile. They gazed at each other fondly until they heard the hallway creak again. They let go and sat back in their chairs, maintaining eye contact until the parlourmaid walked into the room with Phryne's breakfast, which she laid on the table.

"Thank you, Amelia."

The maid turned to face her. "Please call me Millie, miss. Everyone calls me Millie."

Phryne smiled warmly. "Very well." She held out her hand towards Jack. "Millie, I'd like to introduce Detective Inspector Robinson. The Inspector is one of the best in Victoria and is here all the way from near Melbourne to solve this terrible crime."

Millie's eyes darted from Phryne to Jack and back to Phryne. "Victoria?"

"Yes, we're still trying to figure out who this poor man is. Dreadful, don't you think? And to happen here, of all places. I believe he was one of your people. Have you heard anything?" Phryne watched as a small frown flickered across her brow.

"My people are Wiradjuri people," she said to Phryne. "Do you think he's a Wiradjuri man?"

Phryne opened her mouth but didn't know what to say. She looked at Jack, who shrugged. "I don't know. It's possible, I suppose. Where are you from, Millie?"

"Near Wagga Wagga." She picked up the tray and nodded at her. "I've been a bit busy these last few of days, what with the new arrivals and such. Please excuse me, miss."

"Of course, Millie. And you're about to get busier with the guests arriving soon for the party. You must be run off your feet preparing for that."

Millie looked relieved and smiled as she nodded. "Can I get you anything else, miss?"

Phryne smiled back at her warmly. "No, thank you." She watched her nod and then scurry out of the room.

"Well, that was awkward," she said quietly, leaning towards the door so she could watch Millie disappear down the hallway. She looked at Jack who was watching her with a knowing smile. She narrowed her eyes at his expression. "Am I right in suspecting you are thinking what I'm thinking?"

Jack cocked his head and shrugged. "That depends on what you think I'm thinking."

"Well, apart from you knowing what I was up to, I suspect you also think she purposely didn't answer my question about hearing anything about the murder." She took a bite of her toast.

"If you mean being friendly and approachable and engaging her in conversation in the hope she would relax and reveal something, then yes, I knew what you were up to. As for thinking she has heard something about the murder and avoided your question, why would I think that?" He drank the last of his tea and turned in his chair so he could face her. He crossed his legs and placed his clasped hands in his lap.

Phryne put down her toast. She felt like she was being interviewed. "Oh, come on, Jack! Maids know everything about what's going on. They are the eyes and ears of these places."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Not always."

Phryne looked at him incredulously. "You may be an excellent detective, Jack, but I know my maids. Gossip is the mainstay of domestic service. In my experience, they know everything that goes on in a household."

Jack smiled at her. "Well, clearly I've never had a maid, but I've interviewed a fair few of them." He cocked his head and drew down the corners of his mouth. "So, I don't agree. Not all maids know what's going on, especially if they're new or unpopular."

It was Phryne's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting she is either of these things … or both?"

"I'm not sure, I'm yet to interview her, but I suspect she's new. My point is, you can't assume she's in on the gossip just because she's a maid. I think she acquired the position recently and probably put a nose or two out of joint."

"Go on," Phryne said, leaning forward.

"Well, you said yourself that you know your maids. Did it seem like she's been a parlourmaid for long?"

Phryne thought for a few moments, "Well, now that you mention it, no," she said slowly, "she was a bit careless with the china."

Jack nodded. "She also reached across me to collect my plate, which was bad enough, then didn't ask if I'd like another pot of tea. No experienced parlourmaid would forget to ask that. And her hands, did you notice? She had the hands of a much older woman. Washerwoman hands, I'd say. Perhaps one of the Mr Morecrofts tried to procure her a better place in return for favours of the … shall we say, more intimate kind."

Phryne grimaced. "Sexual favours?"

Jack smiled, she was never one to mince words. "Just a hunch, at this stage. If that's the case, he presumably had to convince his mother, or grandmother, depending on which Mr Morecroft is involved, to take her on as parlourmaid, which means that someone lost that coveted position. I can imagine one would get attached to their maid, if they were good. I wonder what convinced Mrs Morecroft to agree to it? Anyway, if this all happened, and that's a big if, I suspect she would've been shunned by the rest of the staff."

Phryne sat back in her chair and folded her arms. "Oh, you are good, Inspector."

"One of the best in Victoria, I believe," he said, flicking up an eyebrow and smiling at her. "I'm surprised you didn't notice."

Phryne looked at him fondly. "Well, in my defence, I've been a bit distracted of late."

Jack smiled and gave her a small nod. They gazed at each other, not bothering to hide their mutual affection now the uncomfortableness of yesterday had faded. Jack felt himself being drawn in deeper and looked down at his hands in his lap, just as Millie bustled back in the room with a fresh pot of tea for him.

"Cook said I should bring you a new pot, sir. I'm sorry I didn't ask before. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No thank you. I'm fine."

Millie nodded at both of them and quickly left the room. Jack looked at Phryne with a smirk. She flicked up her eyebrows and smiled back.

"I think you may be onto something."

Jack shrugged. "Perhaps, but regardless of whether she knows anything, she has valuable insight into her culture and would know how best to approach the Aboriginal staff. I'm talking to her today." He paused. "I'd appreciate your assistance, she seems comfortable with you."

Phryne grinned. "Thank you, Jack. That means a lot to me." Her smile quickly faded when he excused himself and made a move to stand.

"Where are you going?" she asked a little too quickly.

"Into town to talk to the acting Detective."

Phryne frowned. "Acting?"

Jack pressed his lips together and nodded. "Wright's gone walkabout, apparently." He raised his eyebrows and gave her a knowing look. "So has his good mate Frederick Morecroft. Not sure when I'll get to interview them, everyone was vague about when they'd return. I'll poke around a bit after that and pay the publican a visit. They're like the maids of the town," he said with a smirk. "Speaking of maids, I'm interviewing Millie at two. See you then?"

Phryne nodded and smiled. "I'll be there. Good luck with the town maid."

He smiled back at her, nodded, and left the room.

Phryne's eyes followed him into the hall. She twisted to watch him walk along the verandah once she heard the front door close, willing him to turn to look at her as he walked past the dining room windows. He didn't. He walked briskly, like he had a job to do. She sighed and turned back to her breakfast. What on earth just happened? She closed her eyes and shook her head. She promised herself she wouldn't do that, wouldn't touch him, wouldn't talk about how she felt unless he initiated it, but she had failed to hide how she felt yet again. She put her head back and blew out a breath; she had no self-control around him. She was almost relieved he was moving away. She rolled her eyes and put her head in her hand. No she wasn't. How could she think that? She was devastated. Maybe if they could work well together on the case without making it personal, he would rethink the move. She looked at her watch. She had six hours to fall out of love with him.

-o0o-

Jack's battered car bounced and rattled along the dirt road back to Yarrowee Station, back to Phryne. His thoughts should have been on the interviews, even if they were disappointingly unenlightening, but he was still thinking about his morning with Phryne. He shook his head. He had to stop letting her touch him like that. It felt good, too good. And no more gazing at each other either. It was too easy to think they still had something special when they looked at each other like that, whatever that was. He couldn't allow himself to think that way anymore.

He parked under the peppercorn tree and ran his fingers through the cool, fragrant leaves on the way to the study. He threw his notepad on the table, checked his watch and sat heavily in the chair by the window, turning to look at the view.

He let out a small groan and put his elbows on the table so he could cradle his head in his hands. Just a few minutes reflection before she arrived. He closed his eyes. He was back to being rattled, conflicted. She certainly wasn't acting like a woman who was trying to move on from him. Perhaps she was just disappointed she'd be losing an ally on the force, one who had let her get away with so much these last couple of years. One who also acknowledged her considerable skills and had come to rely on her help. Nope. She still had feelings for him and was struggling just as much as he was. He was sure of it.

"Jack?"

He snapped his head up to see her standing before him. He attempted lightheartedness. "Sneaking up on me now?"

"Hardly. I was as thunderous as an elephant on those creaky old boards. You must have been miles away. Are you unwell? I can get you aspirin."

He sat back in his seat. "No, thank you. I'm fine. I was just thinking about the case."

Phryne nodded and looked at him quietly for a while. She glanced down at the table. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

He watched her trot out the door and along the verandah. She returned after a few minutes with a damp cloth, some pencils and paper.

"I've ordered us a pot of tea," she said to him as she wiped the table and chairs to get the dust he'd missed yesterday, "as well as some biscuits. We can't detect on an empty stomach, Jack."

He smiled. He had to stop moping and mulling over his decision and their predicament and look at it for what it was: one last opportunity to spend time with the woman who had captured his heart and dominated his thoughts for the last couple of years. The woman who had also made him a better detective. If anyone was going to solve this case, it would be them, working together.

Phryne smiled back and sat down next to him. "How shall we play it? Do you want me to lead? When is she due, by the way?"

Jack looked at his watch. "I changed the time to two fifteen so we could talk first. And yes, you should lead."

Phryne nodded. "How did the interviews go this morning?"

Jack pursed his lips and shook his head. "Waste of time. I could have telephoned in. The police were hostile and unhelpful. And I got the distinct impression that it wasn't because they thought I was stepping on their toes, either. They're hiding something. Sergeant Peters was particularly uncomfortable in my presence and the acting detective was surly. As was the publican. Everyone was tight lipped and hostile. Makes me think the whole community is either hiding something or are too scared to talk." He frowned. "Something's not right."

"I agree, Jack. Something's definitely not right. But don't worry," she said, grinning as she placed her hand briefly on his arm, "they don't stand a chance against us."

Jack huffed out a small laugh and then smiled at her. "Right then," he said in a business-like fashion. "Let's solve this murder."

-o0o-

Phryne looked across the table at Jack picking at his dinner. He was pensive, sombre, with none of the lightheartedness he exhibited that morning. She had known something was wrong when she walked into the study, but he seemed to perk up and was fine during the interview with Millie. Even playfully bragging afterwards about being right about her being in the job for a short period, even though that was somewhat negated by the news that it was Mrs Morecroft who insisted she take the position after placing her parlourmaid into the newly vacated role of cook. Phryne left the study after the interview, agreeing that her presence when he interviewed the shearers would, in their eyes, emasculate him. He seemed fine the last time she saw him.

Perhaps, like her, he was simply exhausted after the emotional strain of the last couple of days, coupled with little sleep. He mostly avoided her eye throughout the rest of the meal, occasionally flicking his eyes up at her. When she caught him looking at her, she quickly smiled at him. He forced himself to smile back before looking down at his dinner again.

After the main course, he placed his napkin on the table and thanked Mrs Morecroft for a delicious dinner. He wanted to go over his notes after the interviews today, he explained, before having an early night. He stood, said goodnight to everyone, then walked out the door. Phryne waited a few moments and quickly excused herself so she could trot after him. She saw him in the light of the verandah, walking to his room.

"Jack!"

He stopped but didn't turn around straight away. She saw him take in a deep breath and release it before turning to face her.

She caught up with him. "Perhaps you'd like a more comfortable setting to go over your notes. We could discuss the case together in the cottage." She shrugged. "In case we missed something. And I'm interested in how the rest of the interviews went."

She waited a few moments for Jack to respond, but he said nothing.

"Also," she said, trying to fill the awkward silence, "I have whiskey." She smiled, confident he wouldn't be able to say no to that.

Jack was quiet for a moment and studied her face. "Ahh … no thank you Phryne. I'm off whiskey for a while." When she looked confused and disappointed, he added, "I didn't learn anything of interest today, but we can talk more about that tomorrow if you like. The long drive up here, the accident and then …," he paused and looked down at his feet, using the brim of his hat the hide his face. "It's been a tough couple of days."

"I understand, Jack" Phryne said gently. "It's been a tough few months, for both of us." After a short pause, she said, "I would like to talk more about the case tomorrow. Thank you. Will you be holding more interviews?"

He looked up at her. "Yes, after lunch. The cook, who's been too busy, the wool grader and his wife, and more shearers." He gave her a small nod. "See you sometime after breakfast, then." He turned to move away.

"Jack," she said quickly, holding his arm gently. He turned his head towards her but his body was still angled away from her. She moved around him so she could face him, pleased he hadn't pulled away.

"Thank you for today. I know Aunt P put you … well us, in an incredibly awkward position, but … I'm … I'm so glad you stayed. I really enjoyed our time together today, and I'm grateful …," she paused to take a deep breath, she was getting emotional again and her voice had started to waver. She stepped closer and held his other arm, so they were standing a short distance apart. He looked down at the short space between them, blinking quickly, glancing at her every now and then.

"I'm grateful for your good grace, Jack. You had every right to shun me, to exclude me from the case, but I'm so thankful you didn't. Not because I'm desperate to solve a murder, but because of the time spent with you. I had a lovely time with you today." She relaxed her grip on him but didn't let go. He was quiet, but his breathing had quickened. She suspected he was feeling emotional too.

He lifted his eyes to hers and nodded as he took a step back from her. "I won't be looking at my notes for long before I retire to bed with my book," he said, ignoring what she had just said.

"Oh?" Phryne said, hoping to keep him talking. "What are you reading?"

He smiled at her and reached out to briefly touch her arm. "Nothing that will interest you, I'm sure. Goodnight Phryne." He turned away from her to walk back to his room.

Phryne wanted to grab him and shake him and yell, _Everything you do interests me!_

"Jack!" she said urgently, stepping towards him and taking hold of his hand.

He stopped and turned slowly.

She moved close to him again, tightening her grip on his hand. "You've been awfully quiet this evening. Is there something you need to say to me?"

He shook his head. "You were very helpful today, Phryne. Thank you." He took a step back from her and slipped his hand from hers.

Phryne shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Jack. About us … do you want to talk more about us? Are you still angry with me?"

He looked at her sad face. She was doing everything to try and make it right again and was hurting terribly too. He would always be affected by seeing her like that.

"Only a little bit," he said, managing a small smile. "I'm sad, mostly."

Phryne held her breath and nodded. She pressed her lips together to try and still her quivering chin. Jack clicked his tongue and stepped closer. He knew he shouldn't, but he did anyway. He cupped her jaw and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb.

Phryne closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing as her body reacted to his touch. She took hold of his other arm and moved closer still, breathing more heavily now. She opened her eyes and saw him gazing at her parted lips. She closed them again and tilted her face up, breathing out his name, willing him to kiss her.

Jack widened his eyes and straightened. He slowly withdrew his hand and took a step away, forcing Phryne to let go of his arm. He was shocked by how close he came to kissing her. He looked at the ground for a few moments while he regained composure.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," he said, still breathing heavily. He bent his head and touched the brim of his hat. "Goodnight Phryne."

"Goodnight Jack," she whispered. She forced herself to smile. "Sleep well."


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello lovely readers. A quick word on the language used in this chapter to describe Aboriginal people. It is awful, but unfortunately it's historically accurate._

 _I'd also like to thank the wonderful guests who have written such fabulous reviews. I can't reply to you personally, so just wanted to say thank you._ _  
_

* * *

Phryne walked briskly up through the trees and across the lawn to the front door of the homestead. She stopped on the verandah to catch her breath then opened the door just as Millie was walking down the hall towards the kitchen with a tray full of crockery.

"Morning, miss," she said after twisting to greet her. "I'll take these to the kitchen and be right back."

"Thank you, Millie." Phryne looked at the empty coat pegs by the door. Blast! He'd left already. She hung her hat and coat, disappointed she'd missed him despite getting up at an ungodly hour yet again. Although she would see him straight after breakfast, she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, given his imminent departure from Melbourne and her life. Perhaps she should skip breakfast and go straight to the study to see him. No, she was famished, and she didn't want to seem too desperate to spend time with him, even though she was and he knew it.

She sat at the dining table on the seat Jack probably occupied that morning, the one he'd been in the last two mornings with a view towards the lake. She wondered how he'd be with her today. He was moody at the best of times, but after almost kissing her last night, he could go either way.

Millie bustled in and took her order. While Phryne was waiting for her usual tea and toast, she stared out the window for a while then glanced at the papers lying on the table. Yesterday's _Age_ and _The Sydney Morning Herald_ were there, folded neatly and pushed off slightly to the right. Another smaller paper lay in front of her, just above the place mat. It had the front pages folded back, almost willing her to slide it down the table to have a look. She did: _The Riverine Gazette_. Local rag then. She scanned the stories for anything of interest. A headline caught her eye.

 **FUTURE OF COOTAMUNDRA GIRLS HOME AT RISK FROM UNGRATEFUL BLACKS**

 _Black radicals have petitioned Premier Lang to shut down the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls, citing widespread abuse. Tom Shanahan, member of the newly founded Australian Aborigines Progressive Association, accused the Government's Aboriginal Protection Board of seeking to destroy the Aboriginal identity and culture, by "forcibly removing girls from their homes to train as domestic slaves"._

 _This disgusting attack on the prominent law makers who are working tirelessly to improve the lives of the natives by_ _—_

Phryne jumped in surprise when Millie arrived with her breakfast, quickly folding the paper so she couldn't see the article. She looked up at Millie as she lay her breakfast before her.

"I don't know New South Wales very well, Millie. Can you tell me where Cootamundra is?"

Millie froze and stood slowly. "Long way from here, miss," she said without looking at her. "Do you want to go there?"

"No, no. Just wondering." She said with a reassuring smile. "I've just heard the name lately."

Millie nodded once and left the room. Phryne opened the paper and continued reading. She raised her eyebrows at what she read next, then gulped her tea and spread her toast so she could take it with her. Breakfast in hand, she trotted out the door.

-o0o-

Jack heard the click of her heels on the verandah and felt a strong tug in his guts, but it wasn't anxiety this time. He looked up just as she stopped by the window to peer in. She flashed him a radiant smile. He smiled back, pleased that the mood of their meeting was established before she had entered the room. She walked in with a piece of toast in one hand and a folded paper under her arm, shutting the door behind her to keep their conversation as private as possible. She tossed the paper down onto the desk just in front of him.

Ahh," he said, pulling it closer, "I see you found the article."

Phryne raised her eyebrows and stuck her chin out. "Of course! I know an evidence plant when I see one." They smiled at each other, pleased to be feeling themselves again.

She moved around the table to sit next to him, somehow resisting the temptation to run her hand lightly over his shoulders in a show of affection as she walked behind him. Once seated, she scooted the chair closer so they could both read the article.

"This is very interesting, I think," he said, rapping the paper with the back of his fingers, "and perhaps related to the case, but I'll get to that later. Even more interesting is what I found out this morning."

Phryne had just taken a bite of her toast. She turned her head sharply to look at him as she chewed. "Hmm?"

"I have a potential name of the victim."

Phryne widened her eyes and quickly swallowed her mouthful. "Who? How?"

"I called Swan Hill station this morning to find out if anyone had reported a missing person. Turns out someone did. Kathleen Walsh turned up at Swan Hill station two days ago and reported Patrick Walsh, her husband, as missing." He paused and looked at her. "He was a union organiser with the Australian Workers' Union."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Well, well."

Jack nodded. "Mm. He left home earlier than usual the day before and hasn't been seen since. He'll have to be identified, but I'm hopeful our victim now has a name."

"It has to be him! Race?"

Jack pressed his lips together and nodded. "Aboriginal."

"That settles it then, surely."

"Yes, I think it does." Jack turned the page of his notebook. "Detective Inspector O'Sullivan from Swan Hill is coming over with his wife first thing tomorrow morning to identify him. I'll meet them at the hospital morgue." He shook his head. "Nasty business that."

Phryne blew out a breath. "Well, that is an important discovery. Why wait until tomorrow?"

"She's distraught. Refusing to believe it's him. Wants to have another day to see if they find him." He pressed his lips together. "They're doing the ring around at hospitals to placate her."

Phryne nodded. "Poor thing. Would you like a female presence tomorrow? A support person for the wife, I mean."

Jack pursed his lips while he considered her offer then nodded slowly. "That's a good idea. I'm sure she'll appreciate that. And it's not like you've haven't already seen him dead." He smiled. "Thank you."

Phryne smiled back at him, pleased with the new development that would help them solve the case until she remembered what that would mean for them. She sobered quickly, turning away from him to look at the newspaper she'd brought with her.

"Well then," she said, thankful for the distraction. "Tell me what interested you in this article."

Phryne looked at him, waiting for him to answer her. He raised an eyebrow and looked at her quietly.

She sighed theatrically and dragged the paper closer. "All right, I'll figure it out. Well, it's very sensationalist and terribly disparaging of the Aboriginal group." She paused and looked up at him. "But it was the gushing praise of the prominent board members of the girls' home from Balranald and Wagga Wagga, including 'much respected senior police officers' that interested me." She stopped and looked at him. "You too, I assume?"

Jack nodded. "I asked around."

"Go on."

"Don't you want to guess?"

Phryne rolled her eyes playfully and sat back in her seat. "Well … I'd say there'd have to be a Morecroft on the board. And as for police, I assume Wright's got his grubby little fingers in this sordid pie. How am I doing so far?"

"Spot on. Board members include Wright, who's still missing, by the way, and Frederick Moorecroft. I'll call the DC today to get Wright's Super to find him and send him in for an interview. Disappearing in the middle of a murder investigation when you're the leading officer is not a good look."

"I agree. What interest do you think Wright would have in that home?"

"I wondered the same thing." He looked at his watch, "I have the wool grader and his wife coming in fifteen minutes."

Phryne nodded. As much as she'd like to attend all interviews, she knew it wasn't appropriate. "I promised Aunt P a game of draughts, this morning." She sighed, "I know what I'd rather be doing. Are you lunching in the dining room today or here?"

"Here, I have interviews all day."

Phryne nodded and glanced at her watch. She didn't want to leave quite yet. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Jack tilted his head and thought about it. "Better that the last two nights, yes. You?"

Phryne shrugged. "Not bad, I suppose, but these early mornings are a killer."

Jack smiled. "An early night for you then."

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. Cornelia asked us to attend the annual thank you to the shearers tonight."

"Us?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, us. Please come Jack. It's a casual get-together."

He winced. "Do I have to?"

Phryne reached out and held his hand. She was about to speak, but stopped when he looked down at her hand on his then lifted his eyes to hers. He was quiet for a while but didn't pull his hand away.

"Do you remember the first time you did that?" he asked her.

Phryne smiled. "Of course, I do. My birthday. I believe I was trying to convince you to attend a party with me then too. I never did get to dance with you that night." She gave his hand a small shake. "Please Jack, it'll be fun. There'll be food and wine." She gave him her best doe-eye look. "Please don't leave me alone with the shearers."

Jack huffed out a small laugh and smiled at her, thankful they could laugh at their disastrous reunion now. "I'll see how I feel at the end of the day." He smiled as Phryne pouted in disappointment. She was adorable when she did that. "What time?"

"Six o'clock. The shearers are early risers. You should also know there won't be a formal dinner tonight, so if you want food, you'll have to come."

Jack smiled at her persistence. "No promises, but I'll try."

She withdrew her hand from his and nodded with an exaggerated sigh. She stood. "I'll leave you to your interviews then. See you at six," she said with a grin.

-o0o-

It was a gorgeous late spring evening. The heat of the day had been blown away by a breeze cool enough for Phryne to wear a colorful shawl over her blouse. She had chosen to walk to the homestead in the hope Jack would want to walk her home. If it was early enough, she would invite him in to discuss the case. Well, that was her plan, anyway. She took the road so she wouldn't collect burrs with the flared cuffs of her well-fitted trousers.

She stepped onto the verandah and walked along the wing that housed some of the servants, passing the guest room where Jack was sleeping. She turned the corner and slowed. The double doors to the sitting room were open and small groups of shearers sat on the verandah drinking beer and talking loudly. She gathered her shawl tightly around her. One of them saw her and elbowed the man next to him, thrusting his jaw out in her direction. He murmured a few words and they all turned to watch her walk towards them.

The toothless shearer who invited her onto his lap a couple of nights ago called out to her as she walked closer. "Good to see you again luv. How'ya goin'?"

"Evening, gentlemen." She smiled at them as she stepped through the doorway to the sitting room, pleased they were on their best behaviour in front of their boss.

Cornelia and her aunt were seated just inside the door in a cluster of eight chairs that surrounded a low table. Judging by their quizzical expressions, they'd heard the exchange. Phryne shrugged. She didn't want to relive that night again. She sat down with her back to the wall and placed her hat and shawl on an empty seat beside her, reserving it for Jack, hopeful he would come.

"Help yourself to some food, dear," her aunt said, "Cornelia's put on a wonderful spread."

"I will soon, Aunt P," she said, wanting to wait so see if Jack would turn up. "I might have a drink first." She twisted in her seat to stand just as Millie arrived with a tray of drinks. She chose a cocktail, thanked her and turned back to Cornelia just as an older couple entered the room. They looked to be in their fifties, well weathered, like most people she met who lived on the land. They nodded at Cornelia and sat down with them.

Cornelia greeted them, somewhat coolly, Phryne thought. She turned to Phryne and her aunt. "I'd like to introduce Mr and Mrs Bartlett. Mr Bartlett is our wool grader. She placed her hand on her friend's arm. "This is my dear friend Mrs Stanley and her niece, Miss Fisher. Miss Fisher kindly drove her aunt all the way from Melbourne to attend my party."

"How do you do," Phryne said, holding out her hand. Mr Bartlett, a wiry, bespectacled man nodded and held her hand lightly. He was wrinkly, almost shrivelled, slowly baked by years of torturous summers. This place would do that to a person, she thought. He held her hand for just little too long and let his eyes drift down her chest, much like Wright had done when she first met him. Phryne tried not to grimace and withdrew her hand quickly, hoping his wife hadn't noticed his leery look. When she turned to Mrs Bartlett to greet her, she was met with a steely gaze. She held out her hand anyway. The wife reluctantly extended her pudgy hand to loosely hold on to the end of Phryne's fingers for a shake that lasted no more than a second.

After they greeted her aunt, the wife looked down the room and snapped her fingers at Millie to draw her attention. When Millie didn't respond, she called out.

"Girl!"

Phryne saw Cornelia bristle. "Her name's Millie, Nora," she said curtly. "I know you know that."

Nora gave Cornelia a withering look, just as Millie came over with the tray. The Bartletts ignored her as they took their drinks, but Cornelia smiled at her warmly.

"Thank you, dear."

Phryne looked at her aunt and raised an eyebrow. Her aunt flicked her eyes towards the Bartletts and raised an eyebrow back before taking a sip of her drink. She was definitely feeling the tension too. Phryne turned her head to look around the room so they wouldn't see her smirk.

There must have been thirty or so shearers, including the groups outside, clustered around several low tables crammed with beer bottles and ashtrays. The plates on their laps were piled high with bread and assorted meats and chutneys. The shearers were all white, and mostly ignored her, apart from a glance here and there followed by a snigger. They were enjoying the free beer and food, clearly having a good time.

She sighed, already bored. She glanced at her watch: six fifty. She'd just decided to accept that he wouldn't come after all when the back door opened and the man of her thoughts entered the room. She felt a strong tug in her belly when she saw him. He was freshly washed and shaven, dressed in casual pants, shirt and tie, and a plain dark blue jumper that matched his eyes. She watched him hesitate, unsure of the reception he'd get from the shearers, now they all knew his profession. The room quietened as they turned to him, but only for a second or two until they turned their attention back to their drinks. It was why they were there, after all.

"Inspector," Cornelia called out, giving him a wave. "Won't you join us?"

Jack gave her a small nod. He looked at Phryne grinning at him and held her gaze as he wove his way through the shearers to the table. She gathered up her hat and shawl as an invitation to sit next to her, which he did, smiling at her infectious grin.

"Good evening," he said to the table.

Phryne watched the Bartletts, who managed to smile back at him through what looked like clenched teeth. She added them to the long list of suspicious and resentful locals. She turned back to Jack. He gave her a look only she could decipher. He'd had an interesting day of interviews then. She gave him one back, a look that conveyed her understanding and desire to talk about it later. He turned away just as Millie appeared at his elbow with a tray of drinks. He chose red wine. Still off the whiskey then.

After he had finished his drink, Phryne suggested he accompany her to the table to get some food. When they were out of earshot, she asked him about his interviews.

"I can't say I warmed to the Bartletts," he whispered as he piled his plate high with devilled chicken and potatoes. He glanced over to see them both staring at him. He nodded and then turned his back on them. "We can talk about it later, if you like."

Phryne tried to tamp down her enthusiasm. She was still worried about scaring him off. "I would like that, Jack. My cottage?" she asked hopefully. "We can talk freely there."

He hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. "All right."

They walked back to the table to eat their meal and engaged in small talk for a while. Jack was mostly quiet unless he was asked a question. Thankfully, no-one asked about the case or his move to Geelong. Instead, the conversation moved to crime in general, and how they differed between the big cities and country towns. The Bartletts were quick to lay blame for most misdemeanors squarely at the feet of the Aboriginal people.

Cornelia clicked her tongue loudly and was about to respond when a booming voice called out, "Anyone 'ere play the piano?"

Jack immediately turned to Phryne and flared his eyes as a warning. He saw the beginning of a smirk and gave her an imperceptibly small shake of the head.

"Why, I believe the Inspector plays," she called out. She looked at him and grinned. "Isn't that so, Inspector?"

Jack narrowed his eyes at her as the shearers cheered and clapped.

"Aww, come on Inspector! Give us a tune, will ya?" came a voice from across the room. The men started to whistle and stamp their feet in encouragement.

Phryne leant forward and whispered, "You wouldn't deny these hard-working men a sing-along now would you, Jack? Here's your chance to get on their good side."

He turned and said loudly, "Only if Miss Fisher accompanies me in song." He turned back to Phryne and raised an eyebrow.

"Touché," she said quietly. "Come on, Inspector," she said more to the room than to Jack, "let's not keep these men waiting, they are clearly hungry for entertainment."

She stood and walked to the piano, smiling smugly as she waited for Jack to join her. He felt awkward knowing all eyes were on him and rose slowly. Yes, he could play, but he had never performed in a room full of strangers.

He held her gaze as he walked towards the piano, only breaking eye contact to sit on the stool. He fussed a bit as he made sure he was at a comfortable distance from the keys and pedals. The room fell silent in anticipation. He placed his hands on his knees and looked up with pursed his lips while he went through his repertoire in search of something suitable to play. He was classically trained but didn't think a piano concerto would go down too well with the shearers. He didn't care much for operettas, even though he knew a couple of Gilbert and Sullivan numbers, thanks to his grandmother's insistence he learn them to entertain her on his visits. He pressed his lips together. Nope. He wasn't in the mood for one of them. He looked up at Phryne who was waiting expectantly for him to start. She was studying his face to make sure he wasn't frozen with stage fright so he gave her a smile and a quick wink to let her know he wasn't too mad at her.

Phryne smiled back, relieved she hadn't put him in too awkward a position. A little awkward was perfectly fine though. She sure did enjoy seeing him squirm. She watched him intently as he nodded to himself. He had finally found a suitable song. He lowered his eyes to the keys and played a few notes. The room erupted in a cheer of approval. They knew this one.

Jack looked at Phryne as his hands danced across the keys. She nodded to let him know she approved and smiled broadly before singing in a clear and confident voice:

 _There is a flower within my heart_

 _Daisy, Daisy_

Jack looked down at the keys as Phryne sang the next few lines. She was soon drowned out by the drunken and cacophonous voices of the men. He huffed out a small laugh. He'd heard cat fights more melodic than that lot.

Phryne watched his fingers move fluidly over the keys and with the ease of someone who played often. Apart from looking up at her from time to time, he looked down at his hands with a small smile on his face. Although she suspected he would never admit it, he looked like he was enjoying himself.

Jack looked up at her again to see her watching him as she sang. Up until now he had been quiet. He quirked an eyebrow and gave her one of his penetrating looks as he quietly sang the next couple of lines so only she could hear him:

 _Whether she loves me or loves me not_

 _Sometimes it's hard to tell ..._

Phryne felt like she'd been struck and put her hand on the piano to steady herself. She blinked rapidly and forgot to sing a few lines. She looked away from him and stared at the wall in front of her. Her voice, when she started again, was strangled: thin and strained, as if someone had her in a chokehold. The music and voices of the men seemed to fade into the background as she struggled with sadness and confusion. Did he want her to love him? After labouring through the first verse, her voice trailed away slowly until she stopped singing and stared at the wall opposite.

Jack had looked down at his hands to avoid her eye once he saw her response, only looking up at her again when she stopped singing. She was staring at the wall opposite, lost in thought. He waited for her to glance at him so he could give her a smile but she kept her eyes on the wall. She looked sad and a little shaken. He was just about to whisper her name when she walked away from the piano.

The men sang along, oblivious to what had just passed between them. Phryne's aunt muttered _oh dear_ under her breath and sat a little straighter as Phryne walked towards the table to collect her shawl and hat.

"Please excuse me," she whispered, before hurrying out the door.

Jack watched her go. He didn't want her to walk back to her room alone but he couldn't stop mid song. Not only would he be skinned alive by the shearers, but he would draw further attention to what just happened. He increased the tempo a little to get it over and done with. After he finished, he stood quickly amid the raucous applause and shouts of more, raised his hand in thanks and strode quickly to the door to go after her, snatching his hat from the seat and nodding to Mrs Stanley and Cornelia on the way past.

He cursed his stupidity as he jogged down the path to the lake to where he knew she'd be. What was meant to be a gentle dig at their predicament had somehow caused her to freeze. He wove his way through the trees, thankful for yet another bright night and emerged into the clearing where she was hunched yet again on the bench. He called out so he wouldn't startle her. She turned to him and watched him walk towards her, turning away as he drew closer. He sat with his body angled towards her, his knees pressed against hers. He was close enough to reach for her hand, but he didn't.

"You didn't like my choice of song?" he joked, trying to make light of the situation.

Phryne's lips were pressed tightly together, but she managed a small smile.

"I guess I wasn't in the mood for a party after all," she said, looking at him.

"Well, I'd normally offer to leave you in peace, but not here."

She turned to look at him and nodded. "I want you stay Jack. Please, stay with me for a while."

Jack breathed out in relief and scooted closer so they were both facing the lake. He reached for her hand, pulling it onto his knee so he could hold it in both hands.

'I'm sorry, Phryne. I didn't mean to upset you. I—"

"Jack," she gently, turning towards him. She twisted so she could cup his jaw with her other hand. She looked at him for a few moments as she brushed her thumb over his cheek then shook her head slowly. "You are a lovely, lovely man. After all I did to you, you're still worried about upsetting me." She took her hand away and shook her head as she turned back towards the lake. "In some ways I wish you were cruel."

Jack clicked his tongue and tugged on her hand. "Stop it. You don't deserve cruelness, Phryne. No-one does."

She angled her body towards him again and put her other hand over his. She slid her fingers though his knuckles to caress the back of his hand. "It would help, you know," she said, flicking her eyes up at him then back down to their hands. "It'd help me cope with you leaving because I …" she shook her head. "I just can't accept it. I just can't imagine you gone." She looked up at him to meet his intense gaze. "I know I can't convince you to stay, and a very small part of me wants you to go so you can find someone else to love you, Jack, but … I … I." She turned away so he couldn't see her sadness.

Jack wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his chest. He closed his eyes and sighed when he felt the warmth of her forehead pressed into his neck. This is where he wanted her to be, wrapped in his arms and pressed closely against him. He nuzzled the top of her head with his cheek and ran his hand up and down her arm to soothe her. They stayed like that for a few moments, both of them savouring the embrace. Jack moved his face down to kiss her cheek and felt her breathing quicken. His heart responded by thumping in his chest. He exhaled slowly and gently withdrew from her until their faces were close. He cupped her jaw to angle her face up towards him and wiped away her smudged mascara with his thumb.

They gazed at each other, breathing more heavily now. God, he wanted to kiss her. He felt her hand on his thigh and exhaled sharply, flicking his eyes to her mouth, which was now inches from his, her breath coming hot and fast through parted lips. Should he? He was frozen with indecision; he just couldn't make the first move, and neither could she.

Jack pulled away slowly and twisted to face the lake as he puffed out a breath. He closed his eyes and put his elbows on his knees so he could lean forward and run his hands though his hair. He straightened and twisted to face her again, reaching out to give her hand a quick squeeze.

"We still have a few days here together, Phryne," he said as a distraction from their near kiss. "Let's make the most of it. We'll have the case, and when we're not working, we can spend some time together, perhaps go for walks or a paddle on the lake in one of the canoes under your cottage. Perhaps a dinner back in Melbourne before I leave."

Phryne shook her head slowly. "There's so much I want to do with you, Jack. Much more than we could possibly do in the few days we have here. Geelong's not far from Melbourne. Perhaps I could visit you there sometime?"

Jack clicked his tongue softly and tucked her hair gently behind her ear. He'd always wanted to do that. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'll always have feelings for you if we still see each other." He opened his mouth, closing it quickly when he realised the suggestiveness of what he was about to say. He sighed. He didn't care anymore. He looked at her lips and then back to her eyes again. "What sort of things did you have in mind?"

Phryne blinked rapidly as she thought about what he had said. Should she tell him she wanted to kiss him and make love to him? Best not, in case it scared him away. "Well," she said slowly, still thinking about what she could say, "we never did have a proper waltz."

Jack snorted and pretended to be offended. "What? What was wrong with my waltz? I even bribed my sister to practice with me to make sure it was a proper waltz."

Phryne huffed out a small laugh and squeezed his hand. "Oh Jack, that's adorable!" He was so good at lifting her mood. She tilted her head and rolled her eyes skyward. "All right then, yes, we danced a proper waltz." She paused to gaze at him for a short while. "But," she said smirking "that was _very_ proper. I want an improper waltz."

"An improper waltz?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. He pretended to think. "Is that where we forget the moves and step on each other's toes?"

Phryne smiled. It felt good to be silly with him again. It still terrified her that her happiness was so tied to how they were getting on. She caressed the back of his hand. "No, Jack," she said playfully. "I want a slow and close waltz." She leant forward, like she was about to tell him a secret and whispered, "The type of waltz that would make Aunt P blush." She pretended to straighten his tie so she could lean closer and touch him again. "It's been our metaphorical dance for the last few years, after all." She looked at him with one eyebrow raised. Jack tilted his head and raised an eyebrow back at her. She watched as he considered her request. After a short while, he stood and held out his hand.

"Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne grinned at him. She didn't expect him to dance with her here. She held out her hand for him to pull her up. "I most certainly will, Inspector."

Jack pulled her to him and held her so they were close but their bodies weren't touching. Phryne put her hand on his arm at first, but after a short while she slid it slowly upwards to cup the back of his neck, just as Jack's hand moved slowly downwards until it was splayed low on the small of her back, improperly low, so he could feel the rise of her bottom. Their eyes never left each other's as they swayed, occasionally bumping their bodies together before moving apart again. The longer they gazed at each other, the faster their breaths came. Both of them knew they would eventually kiss. There was no going back from this.

After a minute or so, Jack leant forward so his mouth was close to hers. "Is this improper enough?"

Phryne slid her cheek against his so she could whisper in his ear. She was breathing too heavily to talk normally. "No. Closer."

Jack grunted. Absolutely last chance to pull away from her. If he pulled her against him he wouldn't be able to resist her. Plus, she would feel his arousal and know he wanted something more. But did he? He huffed out a breath through his nose. Good god, yes. He'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted her now and the timing was perfect. They were unmarried adults in a secluded cottage in the middle of nowhere. What better place to finally scratch that niggling and longstanding itch. And what did he have to lose? Nothing. He couldn't possibly love her any more than he already did. Besides, she would never change her mind about commitment so she was already lost to him. Plus the transfer was locked into place. On top of all that, he was sick to death of fighting it.

He pulled her tightly against him and lay his cheek against hers as she breathed his name. They swayed gently, cheek to cheek, moving as one.

Jack pulled away from her so he could look at her. He gently brushed the hair from her forehead and ran his fingers down her face with the gentlest of touches.

"Close enough?" he whispered.

Phryne let go of his hand and wrapped both arms around his neck. Jack moved his other hand to the small of her back and pulled her against him, just in case she wasn't sure he wanted her and was ready for a night in her bed. She exhaled sharply. She was all his, and he was all hers, for tonight at least.

She put her mouth close to his. "I don't think we could get any closer," she whispered.

He moved his hand to cup the back of her head and saw her eyes widen as he bent down and brushed her lips with his on the way to her neck. He kissed her with slow, wet kisses all the way up to her ear so he could whisper, "Oh, we could definitely get closer."

Phryne moaned loudly; she was far too aroused to bother with decorum. Her heart thumped in her chest and she panted with desire. "Oh?" she said, her voice a little shaky. "And how, exactly, would we do that?"

Jack slid his hands up and down her back, stopping just before her backside.

"Take me back to your cottage and I'll show you," he answered.

She pulled back and stared at him with wide eyes. She was so aroused she was dizzy. "Yes, oh god, yes!"

She put her hands behind his neck to pull him into a kiss, but he resisted. She frowned in confusion.

"Kiss me!"

Jack looked down at her beautiful face, just inches from his and smiled. It would be so easy to kiss her now. He shook his head slowly.

"No."

Phryne frowned. "What? Why?"

Jack chuckled at her worried expression and pressed his forehead against hers. "If I kiss you now I may not be able to stop."

Phryne smiled in relief. "Jack. That was mean." She slid her hands down to cup his buttocks so she could pull him firmly against her. She smiled at the strangled moan in his throat as she rubbed against him. She gently pulled away and held his hands.

"Give me a few minutes."

She took a step back from him, their gaze unbroken. "Promise me you won't change your mind, Jack. Don't leave me there waiting for you. Do you promise?"

Jack paused, suddenly overcome with the enormity of what was about to happen.

Phryne held her breath as she waited for his answer.

"I promise."

She nodded, then let go of his hands so she could collect her hat and shawl from the bench, not bothering to put them on.

"Well then," she said seductively, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and feeling much more like herself. "See you soon, Jack." She grinned, twirling with a bounce in her step she hadn't felt for months, and trotted across the grass, turning just before she reached the trees so she could walk a few slow steps backwards to look at him again, before turning one last time and disappearing into the darkness.

Jack stood rooted to the spot and watched her fade as she moved deeper into the trees. Pulses of what felt like electricity moved through his body and he realised he was trembling. Holy hell. He puffed out a breath to help calm his nerves and sat down, shaking his head slowly and running his hand though his hair. He glanced at his watch to note the time.

He'd never had such a seductive encounter. If he was so aroused by her closeness, how would he be in her bed? Oh, Jesus. He was going to make love to her. Their dance had left him wanting her with a desperation that eclipsed all reasoning and sensible thoughts, all notions of morality and propriety. But now as he sat alone on the seat, he had doubts. Would giving in to his lust make it harder for him to let go?

He sat there, his thoughts coming and going as quickly as his heartbeat. In the end he decided he was tired of thinking of the future and wanted to live in the moment, like she did. Regardless of happened afterwards, they would always have this night together.

He checked his watch. She left five minutes ago. He got up from the seat and took a deep breath. There was no hiding it, he was terrified. No backing out now, he thought as he walked briskly towards her cottage. A promise was a promise.


	12. Chapter 12

Phryne was sitting on the lounge when she heard the steps to her verandah creak. She stood quickly, feeling a tremble move its way from her chest to her toes. Excitement or nerves? Both. Although she had lured a man to her bed on many occasions, this was so much more than a one-off tryst. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

The man who stood before her with his fist raised to knock looked just as nervous as she did. She watched as he widened his eyes, lowered his arm, and opened his mouth when he saw what she was wearing, or more to the point, what she wasn't wearing. Suddenly a little self-conscious, she wondered if she was right to change into her satin robe, which clung to her body in all the right places. She'd done it to minimise the time spent fumbling with clothes, undergarments in particular, assuming they would end up in her bed. He took a deep breath and closed his mouth as his eyes slowly drifted back up to her face. She stepped back so he could enter.

She closed the door, feeling his eyes roam over the back of her as she slowly turned the key in the lock. She knew he was wondering what, if anything, she wore under her robe, so she took her time in turning around to prolong the anticipation. When she faced him, she watched as his gaze again moved slowly from her cleavage to her painted toenails, but without the sleaziness of others who had done that to her recently.

Jack managed to drag his eyes from her body to look at her face. She had removed all makeup and brushed her hair. He gestured towards her with his hand. "I … er … see you're prepared," he said with a flick of an eyebrow and a nervous smile.

Phryne smiled back as she self-consciously fingered the robe between her breasts. It was her turn to look at him now, so she took her time. His ungroomed hair that he washed before coming to the soirée had dried into unruly waves, giving him a more boyish look. He had removed his tie, undone the cuffs and top button of his shirt, and pushed up the sleeves of his jumper so they bunched at his elbows. If he didn't look so anxious, he'd look like he meant business.

"Perhaps a drink," she said, taking a few steps towards the sideboard at the back of the room. She had barely passed him when she felt him grab hold of her wrist and tug gently. She turned quickly, the momentum propelling her into his arms.

He slid his hands across the smooth robe to her back so he could pull her close and whispered, "You are all I want."

Phryne exhaled sharply and closed her eyes, opening them again as she slid her hands up his chest to the back of his neck, just in case he had any ideas about pulling away from her. She angled her face up to him. They were breathing a little harder now.

Jack leant in close so their noses were touching. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe you were refusing to kiss me," she whispered.

Jack didn't reply, he was breathing too fast to talk, and besides, he had other things on his mind than conversation. He cupped her face with both hands and pressed his lips softly against hers in a long, slow kiss, one that quickly became passionate when she made soft noises in her throat and opened her mouth to him. Even though they had kissed twice, many months ago now, they kissed like well-practiced and long-time lovers who knew each other intimately and could anticipate each other's moves, know what each other wanted and liked.

They clung to each other just inside the door, their kissing now frantic, their breathing ragged, hands clawing at hair and clothes. Phryne grunted when she felt him undo the belt on her robe with a single rough tug so he could slide his hands under and over her backside, which he squeezed as he pushed against her. He moved one hand to cup the cleft of her buttocks, sliding it down low so his fingers curled underneath, deep between her legs. She exhaled sharply and slumped against him. He growled and moved his other hand to the back of her head so he could kiss her harder.

He pushed the robe off her shoulders and down her arms so it slid to the floor. He took a step back to gaze at her loveliness. That didn't last long. When he looked back at her face and saw her partially closed eyes and swollen lips, his need for her was almost too much to bear. When they met again, their kissing was hard and deep, punctuated with grunts and moans.

They twisted and turned their way towards the bedroom in the most improper waltz possible. Phryne worked on undoing his trousers in between kissing him, while he took off his jumper and undid the buttons of his shirt, pulling it and his singlet off in one go. They made it to her bedroom just as he removed his underwear. Even though the bed was right next to them, he didn't waste a second and pulled her to him so he could feel her nakedness against his. They clung to each other, kissing and gently pushing their pelvises together as a reminder of the pleasure that was yet to come.

He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her rock-hard nipple.

"Oh god," he breathed.

Phryne pulled away from him and took his hand to roughly drag him onto the bed she had prepared earlier by folding back the covers and turning on the lamp. Not that he noticed. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, both of them panting with desire as their hands and mouths explored each other's bodies.

It didn't take long for Phryne to pull at him as a prompt to lie between her legs, and when they finally joined, the heady combination of years of longing, emotional connection and physical sensations almost proved too much. Jack moved slowly at first, alternating between focusing on his pleasure and being mindful of what pleased her. He changed position slightly and noted the arch of one brow, upped the tempo and felt her nails digging into his flesh, kissed her deeply and felt the hum of her moan in his mouth. Watching and feeling her respond to his movements was too much so he squeezed his eyes shut to try and prolong the inevitable. Just when he thought he couldn't hold on any longer, Phryne arched her back, exhaled sharply and held him tightly as she twitched and then collapsed back onto the bed. Jack stopped in surprise and watched her as she lay breathing heavily with her eyes closed, lost in the pleasure that was coursing through her body, oblivious to anything that was happening around her, like an addict that had just had a hit.

She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him shyly.

"It's been a while," she said.

Jack grinned at her, thrilled he'd satisfied her. She pulled him to her and kissed him slowly. "Don't stop," she whispered against his mouth, "I want to feel your pleasure."

Talking during sex was new to Jack and the frisson it caused forced out a small grunt. It wasn't long before he too exhaled sharply and shuddered, collapsing to lie gently on top of her, his breath hot and fast on her neck, his heart pounding against hers. Phryne ran her hands gently through his hair and over his back, smiling as he twitched and squirmed, ticklish from the heightened sensitivity of his skin after lovemaking. They lay like that for a few moments, eyes closed, indulging in post-coital bliss before it faded from their bodies.

Jack lifted his head and smiled, kissing her gently on the lips before withdrawing and collapsing onto his back. He put his hand on her hip bone, lazily stroking her with his thumb. She put her hand on top of his, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles before turning to look at him. They smiled at each other, shyly at first, their smiles widening to a grin then a chuckle at the memory of their passion.

Phryne turned on her side and propped up her head with her hand so she could look at him. She ran her fingers over his broad chest and down his torso, pleased he wasn't feeling self conscious about lying naked beside her. She'd half expected him to pull up the covers or perhaps get up and get dressed then retreat to his room to mull over what had just happened. She focused on his body. He was hard and lean, smooth and almost hairless; the perfect embodiment of manliness. She slid her hand down his taut belly and lightly ran her fingers through his pelt and up to his chest again. She just couldn't get enough of him.

Jack lazily reached up to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. He turned to face her and slid his arm under her head so he could hold her close. Phryne went willingly and wrapped her arm around his chest and slid her leg between his so their bodies were touching as much as possible. They kissed again, slowly and lovingly, without the frantic want of their earlier kisses. Neither felt the need to talk. They were letting their bodies do that.

After a few minutes of holding each other closely, Phryne stretched and sat up. She leant down to kiss him.

"Don't go anywhere. I'm just going to freshen up. Back in a jiffy."

Jack pulled her down for another kiss. "I'll be here."

She swivelled away from him on the bed and walked out the bedroom, bending to collect her robe and turning to smile at him, knowing he would be watching her as she walked naked though the rooms.

Once she was out of sight, he leant down and pulled the covers up, more because of the coolness of the night than a prudish need to conceal his body. He put his hands behind his head and blew out a breath, listening to the splash of water from the bathroom as she washed away his seed.

He pondered the moral ambiguity of what had just happened. So many would judge their coupling out of wedlock as wrong, depraved, but to him, surprisingly, it felt so right. He thought back to the awkward conversation with his father just before he was married. It was a man-to-man talk about the mechanics of sex, which his father described as a sacred act between a man and his wife to consummate the marriage. The main aim of marriage, his father had solemnly told him, was not so much to choose a partner for life, but to create a new life, or many. His wife wholeheartedly agreed. As a young husband and virgin, his job in the marital bed was to father a child, one of the few jobs in life in which he performed poorly. Worse than that, he failed completely. He had loved and desired his wife and sex was pleasurable, but after a while, desperate to give her the child she so dearly wanted, it became mechanical, almost a chore.

But sex with Phryne was all about pleasure, expressing love and desire. It was not only exciting and deeply fulfilling, it was liberating.

She returned to the bedroom in her robe and playfully crawled over him rather than walk around the bed. She sat facing him with her hip against his, her knees together and legs out to the side. She reached across him to support herself with her hand on the bed so she could lean into him. She smiled, a smile that showed her contentedness.

Jack reached out to caress her knee. "Welcome back."

Phryne grinned. "Did you miss me?"

"Terribly," he said, feeling more relaxed with her than he had for a very long time despite knowing what lay ahead for them. But he wasn't going to let himself dwell on that, he wasn't going to let anything ruin this moment. Nothing. He slid his hand up her partially exposed thigh and back down again, the feel of her skin under his fingers causing his eyes to glass over.

Phryne's eyelids closed slightly and she breathed though parted lips as he continued to caress her. She slid her knee further away to allow his thumb to explore the silkiness of her inner thigh.

Jack also breathed more heavily now. He wanted her again. He hooked a finger in the belt of her robe, pulling it loose with a gentle tug to expose a narrow line of her body from her neck all the way down to her thigh. He trailed his fingers slowly down her beautiful body, memorising every curve, not wanting to blink in case he missed a small part of her. He met her eyes and felt a surge of excitement when he saw the want in them. He sat up so he could cup her jaw and gently trace her lips with his thumb. The more he touched her, the faster she breathed. He slid his hand down her neck and under her robe, sliding it off her shoulder and down her arm.

"My god, you are beautiful," he whispered.

Phryne put her hand on his neck to pull him closer. He turned his head so he could kiss her neck, feeling her lips brush his ear. She moaned with pleasure as his teeth grazed her skin. He drew back quickly to look at her, needing to see her desire for him, something he wanted to remember forever.

She wanted him, he wanted her. If they were only to have one night together, they were going to make it a damn long one. He kissed her then, a slow, deep kiss that left her breathless. She pulled back suddenly and pushed him onto the bed. He looked at her with surprise and licked his lips as she climbed on top of him, reaching out to hold her hips to help guide her, but she instead lay down on top of him with her elbows on the bed and her hands on his face. She kissed him with unexpected tenderness, slowly, sensuously. She was gentle with him, close and intimate, focused on his pleasure.

They made love in a way that was so different from the frantic coupling of their first time. It was slow, tender and heartfelt, and she showed all the signs of loving him. When they finally collapsed against each other once more, they stayed tightly entwined, neither of them willing to break contact.

When Phryne eventually slid off him to lie on the bed, Jack turned to face her. He'd imagined having sex with her many times, he was a red-blooded man after all, but hadn't been able to imagine the intimate moments afterwards. He didn't feel in anyway awkward, and he was sure she didn't either. They gazed each other, both wondering if what they had done would lead to more heartbreak. Definitely.

She lay on her side with her leg between Jack's and her arm wrapped tightly around him and thought about how different this felt. She was no stranger to awkward post-coital moments; once her sexual urges were satisfied she would slowly unpeel herself from her transient lover's embrace and gently eject them from her bed. She never liked sleeping with another body touching her, and if it was during the day, she would want to get back to whatever it was she was doing before. But not here, not with Jack. She surprised herself by wanting the opposite. She wanted him as close as possible; every limb, every part of her body that was not pressed tightly against him was a wasted opportunity. She wanted him to stay, wanted to sleep in his arms and wake up together.

Phryne watched his eyelids grew heavy. She kissed him again and snuggled closer, watching the man she loved fall asleep in her arms. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She'd finally stopped fighting it and let herself love him completely, even if it was just for one night.

She felt Jack twitch and wake up with a start. He opened his eyes to see her gazing at him. He smiled as she lightly ran her fingers through his hair.

"I fell asleep," he mumbled, "I should go before I am unable to be woken." He started to move away but Phryne held on tightly.

"Don't go!" she whispered urgently. "Stay with me until morning. Everyone will be up early and will be busy so you can move to your room without anyone seeing you. Please stay, Jack."

Jack smiled, he wasn't expecting her to beg him to stay. He didn't want to leave her, but thought he should offer to go in case she wanted him out of her bed. He nodded. Just this once, he thought to himself as she leant in to kiss him.

-o0o-

Jack sat at the desk in the study and clenched his jaw. He was fuming. He was more angry with himself than anyone else. He shook his head, he should have known better. He looked up sharply when he heard Phryne's footsteps on the verandah, feeling the usual twinge deep in his guts.

She opened the door and stopped when she saw him. Her smile turned into a frown.

"Jack?"

He sighed and shook his head.

Phryne hesitated then walked towards him slowly. Was last night the reason for his mood? He was fine only a few hours ago when he left the cottage. She woke as he unlocked the door, calling out to him so he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. She had trotted into the lounge room and stood before him, shivering in the cool morning air. He smiled and shook his head at her nakedness before pulling her in for a kiss. He withdrew to look at her, then pulled her close again, wrapping his arms tightly around her in an embrace that felt like a thank you. He kissed her again and told her to go back to bed. He would see her sometime after breakfast.

Jack stood as she got closer. She stopped a short distance from him and frowned at his expression. She was struggling to read him. He took a step closer and pulled her into his arms and held on tightly, just like he'd done at her door, but more urgently, like he needed to be comforted. He pulled back, glanced out the window then leant in to kiss her. She finally relaxed and kissed him back.

Phryne pulled away and held his upper arms as she looked at him. "Whatever's the matter, Jack? Something's happened."

He flicked up his eyebrows and nodded, drawing back the corners of his mouth as he sat down again. Phryne took her usual place, moving the chair so she sat close to him.

He folded his arms. "The body's been buried."

Phryne's mouth fell open. "What? On whose authority?"

Jack rubbed his brow and sighed. "Those bastards. Those bloody bastards!"

Phryne raised an eyebrow. He was usually very careful not to curse in front of her. "How'd you find out?"

"I rang the hospital to tell them we were coming over to possibly identify the body. They buried him yesterday afternoon, apparently."

"On whose authority? Tell me."

"Wright, who else?"

"But why?"

Jack looked at her and shrugged a shoulder. "The official reason? The body was starting to putrefy, apparently."

Phryne frowned. "What? It's too early for that! It's only been, what, five days, four of those in the morgue?"

Jack tilted his head. "Unseasonably hot weather, apparently." He pursed his lips. "I can't believe anything anyone has told me so far." He looked at her. "Except you, of course."

Phryne smiled. "So Wright's finally surfaced then." She said, her smile fading at the thought of him. "Well, at least that's something."

Jack scoffed. "No," he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "He authorised it over the telephone."

Phryne's mouth fell open again. "This is becoming more and more bizarre by the minute!"

Jack nodded. "The morgue attendant said he requested the burial and tracked Wright down. Stupid man let slip where he was, though. Want to guess?"

Phryne looked away as she ran through some possibilities in her mind. She turned her head sharply to look at him. "Cootamundra Girls Home?"

Jack smiled at her for the first time that morning. "Yep. Had some urgent business to attend to, apparently."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Hmm. This is all very curious. By the way, I asked Millie where Cootamundra is. She froze. She clearly knows of it. Worth another chat with her?"

Jack drew down the corners of his mouth as he considered Phryne's suggestion. "At some stage, yes. Perhaps after the party. The maids are all tied up in the the preparation of that. I still haven't been able to interview most of them."

Phryne nodded. "So, what happens now?"

Jack pressed his lips together and leant back in his chair. "I've been thinking about that all morning. Well," he said smiling shyly at her, "that and last night."

Phryne smiled back at him and reached for his hand. "Last night was incredible, Jack."

He nodded and ran his thumb over her knuckles. "It most certainly was." He looked down at her hand holding his to avoid her eye. He was quiet for a while, then looked up at her and flicked his eyes to her mouth. "No lipstick this morning?"

Phryne's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Well, I had ideas of kissing you without leaving any incriminating evidence."

Jack huffed out a small laugh and leant in close to her. "Did you now," he said softly, his eyes flicking to the window and back to her face.

Phryne slid her hand to the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss, one that quickly became too passionate for their location. Jack pulled his lips away, blinking slowly and resting his forehead against hers. He huffed out a breath and shook his head, sitting back in his chair to create some distance between them.

Phryne wanted to ask him to come back to the cottage, but for once she showed some restraint. They had a job to do, and he probably didn't want or need any distractions. Plus, she probably needed to take it slowly with him. She would make herself scarce today, unless he specifically asked for her help.

She sat upright, adopting a matter-of-fact air before any awkwardness set in. "So," she said smiling at him, as if their passionate kiss was a normal, everyday occurrence. "What's your plan, Inspector?"

Jack smiled at her, pleased she didn't beg him to make love to her back at the cottage, even if he wanted to do. Desperately, so. He was already feeling guilty about his wandering mind that caused the debacle with the body. He had rung the morgue yesterday a few times, but there was no answer. He should have kept trying but stupidly decided to wait until first thing this morning. He blamed his poor judgement on being distracted by her and their situation.

"I'm having the body exhumed."

Phryne raised an eyebrow. "Goodness! When's this happening?"

"Early this afternoon, hopefully. Just waiting on the DC to get back to me once his colleague over here has finalised the order. Inspector O'Sullivan from Swan Hill will join me with a photographer. We'll get the body cleaned up first and show the wife a photograph instead, so it's not too hard on her." He blew out a breath in frustration. "A whole day lost."

"And Wright?"

"I've asked the DC to take care of that, too. His Super will find him and order him back. "

"When will you leave?"

He looked at his watch. "Hopefully as soon as I hear from the DC. I want to be at the station early to make sure this actually happens. I'm expecting a telephoning call in the office in about 10 minutes. I'll go in a minute or so, to make sure I'm alone when the call comes in. I'll be back for dinner tonight."

Phryne nodded and smiled at him to mask her disappointment. He'd be gone all day. Although she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, she suspected he blamed himself for the case not moving as quickly as it could, so it was probably best to give him some space. He may also want some time to himself to come to terms with what happened last night.

"Well then," she said brightly, "I'll leave you to it." She stood, suddenly unsure if she should kiss him goodbye.

Jack sensed her unease and stood too. He was pleased she knew better than to ask if she could accompany him to the grave, knowing how much she would want to be there. He cupped her cheek with his hand. They would have to talk at some stage to avoid any future awkwardness, but he wasn't quite sure how to instigate that. Perhaps tonight after dinner. He looked at her unadorned lips and smiled. He kissed them softly, withdrawing quickly so it couldn't turn into something more passionate. "See you tonight."

She nodded. "Will you tell me how your day went sometime later?"

Jack squeezed her hand. "Of course. Before dinner if I'm back in time."

She smiled and nodded. "Good." She walked to the door, looking at him one more time before walking out and closing the door behind her, cheekily blowing him a kiss on the way past the window.

Jack smiled. He was thankful she helped lift his mood, but it was time to give the case his full attention. He just need to work out how best to do that.

-o0o-

Phryne sat at the dining table and looked at her watch. Where was he? They had started their first course so it wouldn't go cold. Cornelia had assured her that the Inspector had told her to start without him, in case he was late back to the station. She had felt bored and useless all day. She had tried to write some notes back in her cottage, but gave up. She couldn't stop thinking about last night.

Her aunt and Cornelia chatted away happily. Harry, who had mysteriously been away for the last couple of days, sat opposite her, also picking at his food. He had been moody, surly at times, grunting in response to her attempts to make polite conversation, only to receive steely looks from his grandmother. He was up to something, she was sure of it.

The verandah creaked. Phryne looked up hopefully as the front door opened. She couldn't stop her smile spreading to a grin when Jack appeared. He was greeted warmly by everyone except Harry, who stared out the window. He smiled and nodded at everyone as he sat opposite Phryne.

Jack was thankful no-one asked him about the exhumation. It was hardly appropriate dinner conversation. They engaged in small talk: a little about the steady rain upstream but mostly about Cornelia's party on Saturday night. She insisted Jack come, offering him her late husband's tuxedo, which she assured was in good condition and would fit him as they had a similar build. He was forced to accept, glancing at Phryne, who flicked an eyebrow up at him and smirked, delighted she didn't have to convince him to attend that party too.

After dessert, Phryne excused herself. She wanted an early night, she told them. Jack quickly asked if she was walking or driving.

"Walking, Inspector. I walked up here earlier this afternoon, wanting the exercise. I'm afraid I forgot about not walking back to the cottage alone at night. I will be fine though, I'm sure."

Her aunt rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I'll walk you back, Miss Fisher," Jack said quickly. "I have some paperwork I need to attend to afterwards," he nodded at Cornelia and Mrs Stanley, "so I will also say goodnight."

They both stood, gave thanks for their meal and walked to the hallway in silence to collect their hats and coats by the door. Jack offered her his arm as they walked along the verandah. They didn't speak until they'd reached the road.

Phryne snuggled into him. It felt good to be touching him again. "How'd it go, Jack?"

"Well, we dug him up, cleaned him up and took photographs. You were right, of course. They hadn't done an autopsy and the wound in his neck was quite obvious."

"So, how'd they explain that away?" she asked.

He scoffed. "Scratched his neck when he fell down drunk, would you believe. They don't care how ridiculous that sounds. We had no approval to examine the wound or autopsy the body." He sighed. "I should have demanded it."

"Anything else of interest?" she asked, wanting to change the subject. He was clearly down on himself.

"O'Sullivan had spoken to the widow again. Let's just assume she's the widow for now. And the union. Neither knew anything about him spending time on stations over here. His wife said the morning he died was the only morning he left home earlier than usual, although he had family here who he visited from time to time over the years. More often in the last year, apparently. Apart from that, the union boss said he was well respected, hard working. Likeable. He recruited people to the union because he cared about them. He wanted to make a difference to the lives of his people. It was more than just a job to him."

Phryne clicked her tongue. "So terribly sad. I wonder if he was associated with the Australian Aborigines Progressive Association. What was the leaders name? Shanahan, wasn't it?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, Tom Shanahan. I wondered that too. I'll try and get in touch with him tomorrow."

Phryne nodded. "Another interviewee to add to the list. I meant to ask, who else did you interview yesterday apart from Mr and Mrs Bigot?"

Jack huffed out a small laugh. "Awful couple, weren't they? Just a handful in the end, thanks to the party. Mainly woolshed employees and the barge driver, and a few more shearers I missed the other day."

"Aboriginal shearers?"

"No, not yet. O'Sullivan has offered to send over a man he knows. He's part Aboriginal. He thinks it's best that one of their kind asks them questions."

Phryne nodded as they turned onto the short road to the cottage. She felt Jack stiffen and slow a little. "I think that makes sense. They are the key, I think. Speaking of keys," she said letting go of his arm and rooting around in her handbag. She found the key to the cottage, waving it at him to show him she had it, before walking up the steps to the verandah, leaving Jack firmly rooted to the spot at the foot of the steps. She turned to see him standing there with his hands in his pockets. Her heart sunk. She walked down and stood on the lower step so they were the same height. She placed her hands on his chest. "Jack?"

Jack stood quietly looking at her. He slowly shook his head. "I don't think this is a good idea, Phryne."

"Why, Jack? Why can't we be lovers while we're here together?"

"Because you were pretty much all I thought about today. How could I not after last night? And because it's cruel. How can we walk away from this?"

She ran her hands up his chest and around his neck. She leant closer and nodded. "I know. Last night was …," she hesitated, how could she describe such a beautiful experience? "It was perfect, Jack. Having the cottage to ourselves is perfect."

He caressed her cheek with his thumb. "It's far from perfect, Phryne. You're asking me to sneak around behind everyone's back and pretend I need to walk you back to your cottage. When the case is over, we say goodbye and I leave for Geelong, never to see you again." He became emotional and bowed his head, blinking quickly. "There's nothing perfect about this."

Phryne sighed and leant her forehead against his so their noses were touching. "I'm sorry, Jack. That was a terrible choice of words. Yes, our situation is far from perfect, but last night … oh god," she breathed as she thought of their lovemaking. "Being with you was wonderful. Won't it be worse for us being here together if we deny ourselves intimacy? Can't we enjoy each other as much possible while we're here? We don't have to talk about it. We both know what will happen. Can't we pretend, Jack?"

She pressed up against him, slowly moving her mouth to his, but he pulled his head back from her. He was as rigid as a board.

"No, Phryne," he said, shaking his head. "I need to focus on the case. I've already made a mess of things. I should have gone into town days ago and demanded to see the body."

"Jack, that wasn't your fault! You weren't to know they'd do that. What they did was highly unconventional."

He shook his head. He wasn't interested in sensible arguments. Phryne moved her hands to his shoulders and gave them a gentle shake. She looked up at the sky.

"Look at that, Jack."

He looked up to see what she was looking at.

"What?"

She looked at his face as he looked at the incredible night sky and moved her hands to the back of his neck again. "No clouds."

He looked at her in confusion.

"I had afternoon tea with a very special man quite a few months ago," she began. "I believe we had hot apricot pie and cream. He had three servings, if I remember rightly."

Jack smiled. "Well, it was delicious and your portions were ridiculously small."

Phryne chuckled and leant her body against his. "Anyway … this special man told me that during the day he liked to focus on sensible things, like work, I believe he said. But then at night, he would become someone—"

"Less sensible," Jack said quickly. "Because night time is for fantasy and make believe."

She nodded. "And for letting go, for feeling untethered. I know I'm asking a lot of you, Jack, and I know this will get tough for us, but we can be sensible detectives during the day. At night we become Phryne and Jack again, woman and man. Two people who care for each other very much." She put her mouth close to his. "Spend the nights with me, Jack, will you? Make love to me," she whispered. "We don't have much time left."

Phryne kissed him softly on the lips, pleased he didn't pull away from her. She felt his hands on her hips so she kissed him again, brushing his lips with her tongue and feeling him respond by pulling her against him.

He pulled away and closed his eyes as he sighed. After a short while he looked at her and nodded. He just couldn't say no to her.

Phryne smiled and breathed out in relief. She took his hand, turning to lead him up the steps to her bed.


	13. Chapter 13

Hi everyone. A quick note to say thanks again for all your lovely reviews! Xx

* * *

Jack tucked the photograph into his breast pocket and watched the murdered man's wife throw her head back and wail. He and O'Sullivan left her to be comforted by her mother, retreating to Jack's car for a while to let her grieve, even though they needed to ask her some questions about her husband's movements.

"Never liked doing that," O'Sullivan muttered as he lit a cigarette. Jack turned to look at him. He was big: tall, wide and brawny rather than fat, with auburn hair and a pale complexion. They had chatted on the way over. Born and bred country man, well liked and respected by his colleagues from what he could see at the station. That was important, he had to make sure he could trust him. It only took the fifteen minute drive out of town to the Walsh's for Jack to decide that he also liked him.

"What else did you learn about the vic?" Jack asked as O'Sullivan blew his smoke out the window.

"Diddly-squat apart from what I told you before. I haven't spoken to the rellies yet though, but I can now that we have confirmation. I'll start first thing tomorrow." He turned to Jack. "Wanna join me?"

Jack nodded, pleased about the invitation, even though it was still his investigation.

"You can bunk at mine tonight if you like, given you gotta come back this way anyway to drop Mick off."

"Thanks, but I don't mind the drive. And I'd like to let the Morecrofts know what's happening with the case." This was true, but not the real reason for declining his offer.

O'Sullivan nodded. "Fair enough." He looked towards the house and clicked his tongue. "Too many of their kind are dying on my watch."

"Aboriginals?"

He grunted then shook his head slowly. "As if that's not bad enough, she's a single mother now," he said, tilting his head towards the house, "so she could lose her kids." He turned to Jack. "I've got five of 'em. Can't imagine them being taken away from us. The missus would cark it, I reckon." He took a long drag and blew it out the window again. "Broken heart would do her in," he said looking back at him. "Yet it happens all the time to these people. For no bloody reason, as far as I can see. Sometimes I think I'm alone in my disgust at their treatment. The feds and state governments are forcibly breeding their race out of them. Forced assimilation the Aboriginals call it." He sighed and shook his head again.

"You're not alone," Jack said. "But we're the minority, no doubt about that."

O'Sullivan smiled at him before flicking his cigarette out the window. He opened the car door. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

Once inside, Jack asked her questions about her husband's recent trips. She couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary apart from when he visited his mob, as she called them, which he usually did on his own.

"Secret men's business, he called it," she said. "Couldn't argue with that. He took our eldest son for a while, but not for the last couple of years."

"Do you know where he went?" Jack asked.

"Echuca," she said, wiping her eyes.

Jack nodded. "How'd he get there?"

"The Pyap."

"Paddle steamer," O'Sullivan explained, seeing Jack's confusion.

"Right. Did he go recently?"

She thought for a while. "About six months ago, maybe."

"Did he take a suitcase with him that I could have a look at?"

She blew her nose and frowned. "Why? Do you think this may have something to do with his … his …," she shook her head.

"Possibly," Jack said gently. "We have to look into everything."

She nodded and stood up. "It's up high in the cupboard."

O'Sullivan stood. "I'll get it." He came back a minute or so later with a battered suitcase that he put on the ground and opened. It contained a folded coat, nothing else.

"That's where that is!" Mrs Walsh said. "That's his winter coat. Why would he leave it in there?"

Jack searched the pockets, starting with the inside breast pocket. He pulled out a train ticket and raised his eyebrows.

 **Albury**

 **to**

 **Cootamundra**

Second class

Well, well. That was either an extraordinary coincident or a very big clue. The date of the ticket was June 16, 1930. They questioned his widow for a while longer then left with a name of some of his relatives and friends when it was obvious she knew nothing about his train trip to Cootamundra. Jack mulled over her last words to him in the car back to the station. He had asked if she knew of anyone who would want to harm him. She snorted, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "Just about any whitefella 'round here."

-o0o-

Jack picked up Mick, the man O'Sullivan had recommended as a go between when he interviewed the Aboriginal shearers. He was a local half-blood man, who O'Sullivan had worked with many times because he was happy to work with coppers who were sympathetic to his people and their struggles, coppers who realised their colleagues were a big part of the problem.

They engaged in small talk on the way back to Yarrowee. Jack asked if he would speak to them in Aboriginal, or translate if their English was poor.

Mick turned to him and smirked. "Only if we speak the same language."

Jack frowned. "What do you mean?"

Mick huffed out a small laugh. "You whitefellas got a lot to learn about us blackfellas, that's for sure."

-o0o-

Late that night, after Jack had returned from dropping Mick back to Swan Hill, he made a beeline for Phryne's cottage. They sat on the lounge in front of the fire and talked about their day. They shared a bottle of wine, a gift to Jack from Mrs Morecroft as company for him on the long nights she assumed he spent going over his case notes.

"Surely it's no coincidence that Cootamundra keeps popping up," Phryne said as she snuggled into him.

Jack put his arm over her shoulder to pull her close. He kissed her temple. "I agree. I'm inclined to think the union connection's a dead end given none of the shearers I spoke to had been visited by any unionist, Victorian or otherwise, in the last year or so. I'll ask his friends and relatives about it tomorrow."

"When will you be back?" she asked, worried he would miss the party.

"Mid-afternoon, probably. We don't have too many people to talk to and they all live in Swan Hill." He yawned and kissed Phryne's forehead. "I should get to bed. I've got an early start tomorrow."

She tilted her face up to him so they could kiss on the lips. "Fine by me." She stood, pulling him up and into the bedroom.

-o0o-

Phryne arrived late to the party. She stood just inside the back door and scanned the room. There were around fifty guests, town folk mostly, judging by the clothes, and a handful of Cornelia's wealthy old friends. A quartet on the verandah played upbeat tunes to a few elderly couples who shuffled around a makeshift dance floor on the lawn.

She wove her way through the guests to look for Jack, saying hello to her aunt and Cornelia and grabbing a quick snack from Millie who was working the room with a tray full of hors d'oeuvres. She nodded politely to the Bartletts, who were talking to Frederick Morecroft and Harry, who wore his usual surly expression. She continued towards the front verandah when a hand touched her arm seductively. She spun around with a broad smile.

"Oh," she said, her smile quickly fading. "Hello again, Sergeant Wright."

Wright leered at her. "It very good to see you again, Miss Fisher." He raised an eyebrow as he took in her dress. "And to see so much of you, too." He leant in close and whispered, "Don't move." He gripped her shoulder to stop her from turning so he could walk slowly around her, grunting in approval at the expanse of bare back and the way the ivory silk stretched across the curve of her backside.

Phryne whipped around to face him, dislodging his hand, which he held in the air in surprise. She felt like a cow at a livestock sale, scrutinised to make sure she was rounded in all the right places.

He blinked quickly a few times before chuckling. He leant in close again so she could feel his breath in her ear. "I've been thinking of you. And please, call me Bill." She shuddered, but not in a way he wanted her to. "You look ravishing. Let me get you a drink," he said, pulling back and winking at her. "I'll be right back."

She nodded, her strained smile turning into a grimace as she watched him walk to the back of the room. She spun around and trotted to the front door to look down the verandah to see if Jack was approaching. She raised her arms in exasperation and let them drop so they slapped her thighs. Where was he? He was never late. They agreed to meet at the party almost an hour ago. She had fussed with her aunt's hair for longer than expected so raced there in the end, knowing he would be worried about her. Had he come and gone? She saw him earlier that day when she delivered Cornelia's dead husband's tuxedo to his room. She had reluctantly resisted his amorous advances only because she had promised to help her aunt get dressed and do her hair for the party. _Later_ , she had whispered, kissing him gently on the lips. She broke free of his wandering hands and walked seductively to the door, glancing back at him with a mischievous smile. He grinned. _See you soon_ , were his last words to her.

She walked back into the party to see Wright swivelling to look for her, cocktails in hand. His sudden appearance had put her off balance and she was unsure how she should act with him. She decided to be civil, at least until Jack got there. Perhaps she could ask him about the case before he clammed up completely. She sighed, she really didn't want to spend time with that creep and chided herself for flirting with him earlier. She only did it to extract information, but now he acted like he was in with a chance, despite being married. She walked to him, taking her drink with a tight smile.

"So, Bill," she said, not enjoying the feel of his name on her tongue. "Have you identified the poor man yet?"

"No, unfortunately," he said, pretending to care. "We almost never do with swagmen, I'm afraid." He quickly changed the subject. Phryne tried to steer him back to the case, but he had nothing more to say to her. She fidgeted and glanced at the door, feigning interest as he regaled her with stories of how he alone had solved the region's most difficult cases. She groaned inwardly; she detested self-proclaimed heroes. She drained her glass, surprised when he immediately reached out to take it and put it with his on the table. He grabbed her hand and tried to pull her towards the dance floor but she resisted. The last thing she wanted was to be in his arms.

"Surely you dance," he said, frowning.

"Of course," she said, pulling her hand from his grip. "I was just thinking I might have another cocktail. They're quite delicious, don't you think?"

He stepped closer. "Plenty of time for that, Miss Fisher." He held her wrist to get a better grip and tugged on her but she wouldn't budge. He seemed to be surprised by her strength.

"It's too cold outside for me," she said when he frowned again. She tried to smile through her tightly clenched jaw.

"Well then, we'll just have to dance here," he said, yanking her into his arms.

Phryne tried to push away from him but his grip was strong. She should have refused, stomped on his foot and slapped him for his impudence but she was mindful of not creating a scene. The tune had started a while ago, so she would give him a minute at the most. He grunted his approval and smiled as he put his hand on her back, lightly caressing her bare skin with his fingertips. He pulled her closer than was acceptable, so she pulled back, making sure they were dancing a good deal apart. A small frown appeared on his face and disappeared almost immediately.

"You seem distracted," he said, trying to catch her eye.

"I'm expecting someone, actually." She looked around the room. "I thought he'd be here by now."

"Is that so? And who might _he_ be?"

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Interrogating me, Detective?" She tried to sound casual but there was an edge to her voice.

He quirked an eyebrow, ignoring her tone. "Not at all, Miss Fisher." He leant closer and whispered, "But I could always come by your cottage later and interrogate you there." He spun her around so her back was facing the wall away from the partygoers and stroked the top of her backside. Phryne gasped and pulled away from him, only to have him grab her waist and yank her against his pelvis. She pushed him away and raised her free hand to slap him.

"What's going on here!"

Wright turned his head to look at the scowling stranger approaching them. He relaxed his grip on Phryne, allowing her to pull her hand from his grasp and step away to stand next to Jack.

"Inspector Robinson!" she said, trying to sound unaffected by what had just happened. He was livid and she resisted the urge to link her arm though his. She took a moment to regain her composure and smoothed down her hair before turning back to introduce him to Wright, who had puffed out his chest and was eyeing Jack suspiciously.

"Detective Sergeant Wright, this is Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson." Phryne saw a flicker of anger cross Wright's face. "The Inspector is here to help with the investigation."

Wright tilted his head back so he could look down his nose at him. "Ah, you're the detective who's been poking around in our business. Why the hell are you here, Robinson?" he asked with a sneer. "A deceased, itinerant male who reeked of alcohol was found on the property. Drunken accident. End of story. Happens often out here, not that you'd know that. Bloody waste of your time and mine." He took a step closer. "There's no investigation here," he said through gritted teeth. "Are you so dispensable they just packed you up for a trip to the country? Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Fisher and I were dancing." He took another step towards Jack and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Go grab a drink. You may as well enjoy yourself while you're here, mate."

Jack dislodged his hand with a flick of his arm and shoved him into the wall, smirking as he watched Wright regain his balance and straighten his suit as he recovered from the shock of being pushed away so aggressively. Their eyes locked and they took a step towards each other, their fists balled and jaws clamped tightly. Jack took a further step towards him to get up close, too close for Wright's comfort, and glared down at him with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils as they continued to size each other up.

"Touch me again and you'll know it," Jack said quietly through clenched teeth. "And it's Detective Inspector Robinson to you. To answer your question, the Victorian Deputy Commissioner sent me, with your Deputy Commissioner's approval, so if you have a problem with me being here, take it up with the brass. As for what I'm investigating," he paused, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head, "you'll find out soon enough."

Phryne tried not to smirk. She wasn't surprised at Jack's aggression and watched as Wright glared back at him. He clearly didn't like being spoken to like that.

As the shorter of the two, Wright tried to stand as tall as possible. He leant forward slightly. "This is preposterous! The man was an itinerant worker with no identification. Why the hell would the Victorian police be interested in this? You've come all this way for nothing. I'll say it again. Slowly this time. There is nothing to investigate."

Jack took a quick step closer so their faces were inches apart, forcing Wright to take a step back into the wall. "As the more senior policeman, I'll be the judge of that. I want you in for an interview in the study at ten a.m. tomorrow morning. Sharp. I will require all your case notes. And I mean _all_ of them."

"I will do nothing of the sort," Wright hissed, their faces still close. "You don't get to order me around like that," he spat. "You have no authority here. Stay out of it, Robinson, and piss off out of my face!"

Jack quirked an eyebrow and smiled. "Make me."

"Gentlemen?"

They all turned to see Mrs Stanley looking at them with a frown on her face. "You need to stop this and keep your voices down," she whispered tersely. "Murder is unpleasant to discuss at the best of times, but at a party? Highly inappropriate! Please be more considerate of the host and guests."

"Certainly, Mrs Stanley," Jack said, taking a step away from Wright. He gave her a smile and a small nod of his head. "You're quite right. My apologies. That was most inconsiderate of us," he said, glancing back at Wright. "We will continue the conversation when Sergeant Wright hands over his case notes in the morning."

"Oh, good," Mrs Stanley said, looking at Wright. "I'm glad you'll be co-operating. It's important to Mrs Morecroft that the poor man is identified so his family can properly lay him to rest." She narrowed her eyes at him. "As opposed to being dumped in a pauper's grave." She turned to walk away but hesitated, turning back to face him again. "One other thing, Sergeant," she said slowly, looking him up and down with disdain. "Just so you know, I thought it best we had a policeman from Victoria work closely with you on this murder, given we believe the victim may be Victorian. I personally asked the Deputy Commissioner to send one of his best detectives." She stuck her chin out at him and gave him a steely look. "If you have a problem with that, then I suggest you take it up with me, not Inspector Robinson." She held his gaze and waited a few seconds to see if he would reply. When it was clear that he had nothing to say, she walked away.

Wright stared at Jack without the previous aggression. He was rattled and tried to put on a brave face, but all the fight had gone out of him. "Why the hell do you all think he's Victorian?"

"Because I found evidence on the body to suggest he was," Phryne said lightly with a shrug.

Wright whipped his head around to gape at her. His face turned purple with rage. "You what?" he exclaimed loudly.

All the guests at the party quietened and turned to look at him. The band played on bravely, one eye on the music, the other on the fracas at the back of the room. Wright saw Mrs Stanley narrow her eyes, shake her head and tsk. He squared his shoulders and pulled at his collar, nodding and smiling to appease the guests, most of whom he knew. After they eventually went back to their business, he turned to Phryne and spoke to her quietly through gritted teeth. "Are you trying to tell me you searched the body. I don't believe you!"

"I'm a private detective, _Bill_ ," she said with contempt. "Luckily I found some intriguing evidence before the body was tampered with. I assume it was tampered with before you got there, given you told me you found nothing at all on him." Jack grunted and nodded, his eyes never leaving Wright's face.

"And what exactly did you allegedly find on the body?" he growled, barely able to contain his anger. When she didn't answer him, he said, "Right, I want to see you at the station first thing tomorrow morning. I am very close to charging you with withholding evidence and perverting the course of justice." He nodded at her. "I get it now. Damn floozy."

Jack stepped closer again. "Easy, Wright."

Phryne arched her eyebrows. "It's all right, Inspector Robinson." She looked at Wright, who was still glaring at her. She chose to ignore his slur. "No need for me to come to you, _Sergeant_ Wright," she said, emphasising his lower-ranked title. "Since you'll be interviewed by Inspector Robinson tomorrow morning, I'll see you then." She stepped closer and gripped his shoulder. "Go grab a drink. You may as well enjoy yourself while you're here, _mate_." She winked at him before turning and walking away quickly, denying him a reply.

Wright stood his ground to watch her walk away, fists clenched and seething with anger until he realised he still had an audience. He growled at Jack before marching angrily through the crowd. Jack watched him walk straight to Frederick Morecroft and grab him by the arm. He whispered something to him and they both left the homestead without a backward glance.

Jack blew out a breath and walked to Phryne, who was taking two cocktails from the drinks waiter. She turned, and seeing Wright had gone, walked back to meet him in the middle of the room.

"I wouldn't be too cocky," he said gently, as he took the cocktail from her and motioned with his head to follow him into the dining room.

"About what?" she said, as she followed him across the hallway and into the room. They sat at the table with a view of the sitting room across the hallway.

"About what he could charge you with," Jack said, taking a sip of the cocktail. "He could argue the victim had nothing on him, suggest you took all the tickets and arrest you for tampering with evidence and, as he said, perverting the course of justice. Not all detectives will let you get away with rifling through the pockets of a dead man," he said smiling and bumping her shoulder with his.

"I'll be fine," she said breezily, as if she were completely unaffected by the previous goings on. She put her hand on his thigh under the table and leant closer. "You were magnificent, Jack," she whispered. "You two were like cocks squaring up for a fight back there. For a brief moment I thought there'd be fisticuffs."

Jack nodded. "I really wanted to punch that …" He shook his head and frowned. "Speaking of fisticuffs, you looked like you were about to deliver an almighty slap when I stepped in. What did he do to you?" he asked gently, putting his hand on hers. "Are you all right?"

Phryne dropped the pretence and smiled at him, stopping herself at the last minute from touching his face. "I'm much better now you're here." She paused. "We were dancing," she said, feeling the need to explain. "I tried to resist but he wouldn't take no for an answer and the tune was almost over anyway," she said, seeing him frown. She shrugged. "I didn't want to make a scene. He touched me inappropriately so I pulled away, which he wasn't too happy about." She grimaced at the memory of it. "Anyway," she said, trying to brush it off, "you saw the rest. It seems I may have more than his bruised ego to worry about now, though." She watched as Jack worked his jaw in anger at the thought of Wright touching her so she changed the subject. "Where were you? Why were you late?"

Jack looked a little sheepish and rubbed his brow. "I … fell asleep." He shook his head, disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry. He wouldn't have touched you like that if I'd been here earlier."

Phryne smiled warmly and leant a little closer. She wanted to cup his face and kiss him. "It's fine, Jack. I can look after myself. And I'm not surprised you fell asleep," she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. She gave him a lopsided smile. "Neither of us has slept much lately, and I'm not sure you'll get much tonight, either. I always thought you looked devilishly handsome in a tuxedo."

"And you," he said in a low voice as he leant closer, "are testing my self-control in that dress. Is that the infamous dress you wore to the ball?"

Phryne nodded, not really wanting to bring that up again.

"Well," he said squeezing her hand to let her know he wasn't feeling strange about talking about it. "You look more beautiful in it than I imagined."

The band started playing a slow waltz, so he downed the rest of his cocktail in one go and raised an eyebrow at her, coughing a little from the strength of the drink. He stood and held out his hand. "May I have this dance, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne grinned in delight and held his hand so he could pull her up. "Now that is how you ask a lady to dance," she said as she slid her arm through his. She smiled as he led her into the sitting room, through the doors and outside to the dance floor, twirling on her toes and turning to face him to adopt the right pose in time with the music.

"Ah, this is much better," she said, once they started to move. It was the first time she'd felt relaxed since she'd stepped into that room, secure in the arms of the man she not only loved but trusted with her life. She focused on Jack and the dance to put the murder and the altercation with Wright out of her mind, not to mention that other issue that had dominated her thoughts lately.

Her eyes swept the lawn and the room. A handful of couples were on the dance floor and the rest of the guests were engaged in lively, ruddy-cheeked discussions, thanks to the excellent and plentiful cocktails. Phryne smiled as she watched her aunt, drink in hand, tip her head back and guffaw. She was so pleased she was having a good time.

Phryne looked back at Jack, whose eyes had never left her face. She was tempted to ask what was he was thinking about. No need, she knew. She started to feel a little light-headed, and not just from the two strong cocktails she'd drunk on a near-empty stomach. The intensity of his gaze was a little too much for her, so she closed her eyes to let her other senses experience him: the feel of his hand on her back, the scent of his recently bathed skin, the sound of his shallow breaths in her ear. He stroked her back with an almost imperceptible slide of his thumb, causing Phryne to breathe a little more shallowly. When the quartet finished their number, they stayed in each other's arms for a little too long, dizzy and breathless, not from the alcohol or the twirls of their dance, but from desire. Phryne blinked and stepped back from him, breaking their spell and glancing at her watch in the hope it was a respectable time to leave. Just a tad too early. She suggested one more cocktail and expertly manoeuvred her way through the crowd and back again to Jack, who had moved to lean against the hallway doorframe to watch her. She smiled at him and passed him the drink, allowing her fingers to brush against his, thankful they were in a room full of people who took no notice of them.

But she was very wrong about that.

Prudence Stanley watched them from her seat in the corner on the other side of the room, while her old friends chatted around her. A passerby might see two acquaintances having a private conversation, but that's not what she saw. It was the subtle gestures that gave them away: the slow and seductive sway of Phryne's body that was angled towards him, the way she smiled and looked longingly at his mouth when he spoke; his permanent smirk and complete attentiveness to what she was saying and doing. They were completely alone in a room full of people.

She had watched them dance earlier for a short while until it felt too intrusive, so she turned her back on them and engaged an old friend in conversation until she felt the urge to watch them again. She smiled, feeling strangely content, a surprising reaction to seeing her niece behaving like that with a man she once thought of as dour. But she didn't see him that way anymore. And, she thought smugly, she was the architect of their coupling after all. She thought back to her discomfort at watching them grow close over the years and was ashamed at how judgmental she was about the Inspector's social standing and vocation. She had grown fond of him, she couldn't deny that, but it took having a stroke to come to terms with her niece loving him. He was a good man: caring, resolute and clearly bright, but it was his self-assurance that impressed her the most. He was no pushover, which was just what her niece needed.

She took another sip of her cocktail and looked away from them, sighing contentedly. She was feeling giddy, no doubt from the booze, but also, she suspected, because she was witnessing something special between a very decent man and her precious niece, who was glowing with something that looked suspiciously like love. She shook her head in wonder. Who could ever have imagined the scruffy little grub that caused her sister no end of grief would transform into such a radiant creature. Anyone who knew her back then would have to agree: she had undergone a remarkable metamorphosis.

She snuck a glance at them again. They had moved closer to each other, still chatting innocently enough, but she was no fool, there was nothing innocent about the way they looked at each other. Devour was probably too strong a word, and that conjured up all sorts of unsavoury images, but they were clearly bursting to touch each other. It was like an invisible charge passed between them; if she were any closer she would expect to hear the crackle of electricity.

Phryne's deep, throaty laugh brought her out of her thoughts and she realised she was staring at them again. The Inspector was grinning and looking quite pleased with himself and she marvelled at how handsome he looked when he smiled. They turned to look at her and she quickly averted her eyes. She took the last sip of her cocktail, focusing on her friends' conversation to pretend she wasn't aware of her niece walking towards her.

Phryne touched her aunt's shoulder and smiled. "We're leaving, Aunt P. We're interviewing Wright early tomorrow morning so the Inspector and I will need to prepare for that."

Mrs Stanley blushed a deep crimson and looked away quickly. She tried to take another sip of her cocktail, feeling silly when she realised her glass was empty.

"Are you all right, Aunt P? You look a little flushed."

"I'm fine, dear," she said, looking up at her. "It's a little stuffy in here and I don't think this cocktail agrees with me. Ghastly, don't you think?"

Phryne shrugged. "I quite liked it, actually. Anyway, I'll thank Cornelia and then be off." She put her hand on her aunt's shoulder and leant down to peck her cheek. "Enjoy the rest of the evening, Aunt P," she said affectionately.

Her aunt looked up at her and smiled. "Er ... you too, dear," she said awkwardly, feeling another blush coming on. She placed her hand over Phryne's to stop her running off. She looked over at Jack, who was leaning against the door frame, watching their interaction. He smiled and nodded goodnight to her. She swallowed and managed a small smile back, then turned back to her niece and held up her glass. "Get me another before you go will you dear?"

-o0o-

Jack felt remarkably relaxed, given he was investigating a murder hundreds of miles from home with a problematic detective and a woman who had caused him considerable heartache. The cocktails certainly helped; he had downed three in quick succession and was enjoying the warmth of the alcohol as it snaked its way through his body. He had watched Phryne lean down to kiss her aunt and sucked in a breath at the view, letting it out as a low whistle while he watched her backside shift seductively under her dress as she sashayed across the room. After a sultry glance over her shoulder to make sure he was watching, she continued with exaggerated sway, causing her voyeur to emit an involuntary grunt. She was a well-practiced minx, no doubt about it. He smiled. But tonight she was his minx.

He thought back to their first night together. He was ungentlemanly in his need for her, and judging by her response, that was just how she wanted him to be. It should have been a one-off, a purging of deep-seated longing that had gone on for too long, but he didn't have the strength to resist her. He tried, he really did, but he failed spectacularly, a failure he was quick to embrace; there was no going back now, not once he had tasted her. Making love to her these last few days was all he could think about and if she didn't hurry back, he would have to move into the hall to conceal his desire. He was consumed by it, so much so he had no capacity for sadness or regret. Why feel that way now? He had the rest of his life to do that.

Phryne sidled up to him with a small smirk. "Ready, Inspector?" she whispered seductively. He flicked up his eyebrows and gave her a lopsided smile as he pushed off the door frame so he could twist his body and hold out his arm for her. They walked down the hall, pressed closely together, to gather their hats and coats from the hooks by the front door. They separated to walk along the verandah, linking arms again once they stepped into the darkness.

Phryne grinned at him as she slid her hand over his bicep, moving it slowly and sensuously down to rest on his forearm. "What shall we investigate tonight, Inspector?" she said in a low voice as they walked along the road to her cottage and away from the noise of the party. "I think we may need a more in-depth exploration of the situation." She heard him huff out a small laugh.

Jack was very aroused now, painfully so. "I agree, Miss Fisher. I definitely think we need to probe more deeply into the issue."

Jack's unexpected and lewd double entendre caused Phryne to throw her head back and laugh. They chuckled and bumped against each other as they walked unsteadily down the road, the cocktails working their magic. She leant into him so her breast brushed his arm. Jack suddenly moved away from her and pulled her into a searing kiss. She melted against him and raked her fingers through his hair as he ran his hands over her bare back and down to her backside to pull her against him, just like he fantasised about doing all those months ago now when he was imagining her in that dress.

When he eventually pulled away, she kept her hands on his neck and grinned at him. "Jack! You are full of surprises."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "There's been many a time when you have been on my arm when I have wanted to do that."

Phryne cupped his face with both hands and gave him a soft, lingering kiss on the lips. "What other things have you wanted to do to me?"

Jack smiled at her beautiful face. "Many, many things."

"Show me," she whispered.

Jack kissed her again, harder this time until they started to breathe heavily. He pulled away and scooped her up into his arms and was rewarded with a squeal in delight. He started to trot down the road as a playful way of showing his desperate need for her, chuckling at her laugh and the suggestive whisperings in his ear.

They were so completely engrossed in each other that they were oblivious to their stalker, who had stopped to watch them kiss with lips curled in disgust.

But the stalker was also being followed. There would be no violence tonight.


	14. Chapter 14

Jack opened the door before Wright could knock and glared at him for a few moments before moving aside to let him in. Wright returned the look for a second or two before stepping into the room, only taking his eyes off Jack once he'd walked past. He stopped short when he saw Phryne seated behind the desk.

"What's she doing here?" he said pointing at her. "This is most inappropriate. I will not discuss the case with a civilian present. Especially her."

Jack turned to him after shutting the door. "Yes, you will."

"I don't answer to you!"

Jack nodded. "Ah, so you weren't home when the Chief Superintendent telephoned you this morning, then."

Wright stared at him for a few moments before answering. "I ... er ... no. I left early."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Well, you could telephone him now if you want. We'll wait. Or you could co-operate fully, which is what he wanted to talk to you about."

Wright was quiet for a few moments then straightened his back and stuck his chin out. "Get on with it then."

Jack had removed one of the chairs so wright had to sit in the middle of the table opposite them. He took a small step back so Wright could pass, forcing him to awkwardly twist his body so he wouldn't brush up against him.

Wright tossed the folder he had tucked under his arm on the table and let out an angry breath as he sat. "I will not answer questions from her."

Jack walked to his seat next to Phryne. "You will if Miss Fisher asks you one."

Wright scoffed. "You can't make me. Me," he said poking his chest, "a senior policeman, questioned by a woman? Surely it should be the other was around." He looked at her. "What exactly were _you_ doing in the slaughterhouse that morning?"

Phryne gave him a small shrug and remained silent.

"Just to be clear," Jack said, "I have requested Miss Fisher's presence because, as you know, she examined the body so she's here to corroborate your account. Also because I have found her to be an expert in detecting lies."

Wright opened his mouth to protest but Jack beat him to it. "Where were you on the morning the body was found?"

Wright drew his head back sharply and frowned. "How dare you!" he said, his face turning red with anger. "I'm a suspect now? You are out of line and out of your depth!"

Jack pinched his nose and sighed. "You're a person of interest in my case, Wright."

"I'm the investigating officer!" Wright hissed. "I couldn't give a stuff if you think I'm a person of interest." He sat back in his seat and folded his arms. "This just shows that you have nothing, no bloody idea so you're trying to peg it on me. Your incompetence is staggering, Robinson."

Jack smirked and looked at Wright with a calmness he knew would further rattle him. "Where were you on the morning of the twenty-third of November between the hours of four and seven a.m.?"

Wright squirmed in his seat. "Jesus Christ! Will you let it go? I didn't murder him. Why would I want to do that?"

"I need an answer."

"Christ almighty!" Wright squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He looked at his hands in his lap and pursed his lips. "At a friend's."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Were you up early or did you stay the night?"

Wright flicked his eyes up to Jack. "Stayed the night."

"Name?"

Wright was quiet for a few moments. "It's complicated."

"Name?"

Wright let out a breath in frustration "Norma Stewart."

Phryne grunted in disgust. Wright flicked his eyes to her then back at Jack. He held out his hands, palms up and leant forward. "Look, I know you don't owe me any favours and we got off on the wrong foot, but I don't want my wife to know." When Jack ignored him, he continued, his voice whinier than before. "Come on, Inspector, you know what it's like! Haven't you got a wife waiting innocently at home for you?" Wright raised his eyebrows at Phryne to let Jack know that he had some dirt on him too.

Jack, who had been taking notes, raised his eyes to look at him but otherwise remained expressionless. He watched as Wright turn from him to look at Phryne, hoping to get a reaction from her instead. Jack also looked at her and had to suppress a smile at her blank expression. Wright was in for a surprise if he thought he could rattle her.

"Address?"

Wright folded his arms and blew out a breath. After a while he gave Jack an address.

"Where is she now?"

He frowned at him. "Church," he said, surprised that Jack wouldn't have known that already. "It's Sunday morning, remember?"

Jack raised a judgmental eyebrow, as did Phryne. "I see." He sat back in his chair and looked at Wright for a few moments. "Let's talk about the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls."

Phryne watched Wright widen his eyes before reverting to his fabricated air of indifference. He certainly wasn't expecting to discuss that.

"What about it?" he said, pretending to flick dust off his jacket.

"What's your interest in it?"

Wright jiggled his knee until he realised he was doing it and stopped, he leant forward and frowned. "What makes you think I have one? Look, I'm here to answer questions about the dead bloke, not the girls' home. It's Sunday, Inspector, my day off. Get to the point."

Jack looked at him quietly for a few moments and pursed his lips like he was contemplating Wright's words. He also leant forward, placing his forearms on the table and linking his fingers. He nodded. "What's your interest in the girls' home?"

Wright screwed up his face and shook his head. "Christ! You're wasting—"

"Answer the bloody question!"

Wright clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at him. "Fine! I'll answer your damn questions but I'm reporting you for harassment." He paused and tried to stare Jack down. "I looked into you," he sneered, wagging his finger at him. "You're the type of cop that'd go jack on a fellow copper. A rat with a fly up your arse about—"

"Watch your language, Wright! There's a lady present."

Wright scoffed and opened his mouth to reply then closed it. He sighed heavily and folded his arms again. "I'm on the board."

Jack made a noise in his throat and wrote in his notebook. "How long have you held this position?"

"Nine years or so, now." He looked at Jack who was waiting for him to elaborate. "What's this got to do with anything?"

"What does the board do?"

"Oversee the running of the home to make sure the girls get the best training possible so they get work." He turned to Phryne and shrugged. "Look, the wife's barren so I don't have kids. I always wanted a daughter, so this is my way of fathering, if you like." He narrowed his eyes when he saw Phryne curl her lip in disgust. He turned back to Jack. "We only want the best for them."

"You only want the best for them?" Phryne said, her voice dripping with contempt. "You, a sleazy adulterer without children? I can't believe you have the audacity to think you know what's best for these girls."

"Now listen here, you … you …"

Jack slapped his hand on Wright's folder of notes, causing him to jump and look back at him. He slid them across the table, moving his folder and notebook to the side.

"That's enough chat. Let's move on to the deceased, shall we?" He flicked though the pages, occasionally glancing up at Wright. He raised his eyebrows. "You have the estimated time of death at around two a.m."

Wright flicked a look at Phryne and then back at Jack. He held his head high. "That's right."

Jack grunted and pursed his lips. "Based on what evidence?"

Wright shrugged. "Body temperature, degree of rigor mortis, almost thirty years of experience."

Jack pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. He turned the page and read through the notes. "No identification … smelt strongly of alcohol … general appearance indicating the deceased was an itinerant worker. Deceased most likely fell and hit his head." He looked up at Wright and was quiet until he saw Wright squirm. "Do you still agree with this assessment?"

Wright frowned and sat upright. "What kind of question is that? Of course I do."

Jack smiled. "Well, while you were suspiciously ordering the early burial of the deceased, this incompetent policeman did his job." He took out a photograph from his folder and slid it across the table. "Meet Patrick Walsh, aged forty-four. organiser from the Australian Workers Union, Riverina Branch. Married with five children. Lived with his wife and two of his children on the outskirts of Swan Hill."

Jack sat back and watched Wright try and get the appropriate expression on his face. He settled with confusion.

Wright shrugged. "Well, what the hell was he doing oiled to the eyeballs under the wharf then, huh?"

Phryne clicked her tongue and shook her head slowly. "Oh, Bill," she said, like she was expressing disappointment in a naughty child. "You're not a very good liar."

Wright glared at her. "What sort of copper are you allowing her to talk to me like that?" He narrowed his eyes at him. "Why don't you ask her why she lied to a senior police officer about her movements that morning?"

"I didn't lie," Phryne said. "You never asked me what I did on my drive to the homestead. I'd say you failed in your duty by not questioning me." _Too busy ogling my breasts_ , she wanted to add. "I'd call that a major oversight, Sergeant."

Jack sighed and put down his pencil. "This isn't about Miss Fisher. It's about you and what I consider to be your role in perverting the course of justice."

"It is about her!" he shouted, pointing at Phryne. "She tampered with a dead body and withheld evidence. Why is that not an issue here? Don't answer that, I know why, it's obvious you're dizzy for her!" Wright jutted his chin out and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms with a smirk as he waited for their reaction. The smugness turned to confusion when he saw Phryne yawn and look out the window. Jack sighed and looked equally bored. Wright rubbed his brow. He knew they were lovers but had nothing else to throw at them. If he didn't hate them so much, he'd admire their performances.

Jack sat back in his chair. "That'll be all."

Wright frowned and cocked his head. "That's it?"

"Yep." Jack said with a small shrug. "Why, is there something else you'd like to say?"

Wright stood. "No, no." He reached across the table for his notes but Jack shifted them away from his hand. "These are mine now. Evidence."

Wright scowled at him once more, put on his hat and yanked the door open so hard it bounced off the wall. He quickly left the room, walking in the opposite direction to where his car would have been parked. Phryne jumped up and looked out the window.

"Where's he going?" She turned to Jack and smirked. "I'm just going to get us some tea. Be right back."

Jack stood too. "I'm going to see Norma Stewart before Wright gets to her. I'll find you back here when I'm done."

Phryne gave him a quick kiss and trotted to the end of the verandah. She looked around the corner to see Wright walk through the main entrance. She jogged to the door and looked through the glass just in time to see him shut the back door at the end of the long hallway that led to the internal verandah. Where on earth was he going? She trotted down the hallway and opened the back door a crack to peek out. She could hear a man's muffled voice coming from the kitchen. She took a few steps closer and heard a heated discussion. Even though she was at risk of being discovered, she tip-toed towards the kitchen and angled her head towards the door.

"You stupid bitch!" she heard Wright say. "Did you really think I'd be impressed by that? You're a bloody imbecile. Do you know how much trouble you've caused?"

Phryne raised her eyebrows. She could only hear the high-pitched whisperings of the woman's reply. It had to be the cook, or could it be Millie? She put her ear on the door and heard Wright again.

"And stay the fuck away from them. And me! You've already done enough damage!"

Phryne heard footsteps and turned quickly to move away from the door just as Cornelia emerged from the hallway.

"Hello my dear," she said, when she saw Phryne.

Phryne smiled back at her and took a few steps towards her to get away from the door. "I was just about to order some tea for myself."

"Come on in, dear. I need to tell Cook that some of my friends are staying on another night."

"How lovely," Phryne said. She followed Cornelia into the kitchen and was surprised to find it empty. She looked around and opened her mouth to tell Cornelia she'd be back later when she heard a car start up just as Millie walked into the kitchen.

"Millie, dear," Cornelia said. "Have you seen Florence?"

"No ma'am," she said, looking quickly from Cornelia to Phryne. She turned away from them to make tea just as the cook bustled through the door with a sack of potatoes from the cool room. She nodded at Cornelia and ignored Phryne completely.

"Good, you're back, Florence. We're having eight more for dinner tonight. And Millie dear, Miss Fisher would like some tea and we'll have some cool refreshments in the sitting room."

Phryne smiled. "Thank you, Millie. I'll be in the study." She smiled at Cornelia then walk away quickly. She had some thinking to do before Jack returned.

-o0o-

Jack turned from the light of the lamp and buried his head under the pillow. "What are you doing?" He was lying on his front with one arm above his head, the other had been draped over Phryne before she slid out of bed.

"I'm going to see Millie."

"You're what?" Jack propped himself up on his elbows and squinted as he watched her pull up her underwear.

"I'm going to talk to Millie."

"Now?" He reached for his watch on the bedside table. "It's late. We agreed to do that tomorrow."

"I know," she replied calmly, reaching for her black pants that had been dumped on the floor at the foot of the bed. "But she's busy with the extra guests, so we'll be rushed. Anyway, I think she's more likely to talk to me alone and I can't talk to her when she's working; there's too many eyes and ears around her during the day, especially the cook's, so I need to be discreet. Cornelia and Aunt P will be asleep by now, so I could catch her before she goes to bed herself. Besides, you're dead to the world and I'm wide awake. The timing's perfect."

Jack turned over and propped himself up on his elbows and watched as she wiggled her bottom into her trousers. "Driving to the homestead in the Hispano is hardly discreet," he said.

"I know that, Jack," she said, giving him a withering look as she buttoned up her fly. She turned from him and picked up her camisole and crumpled blouse that had been discarded in the hurry to get naked. "That's why I'm walking."

Jack sat upright. "What? I'm coming with you then." He flung off the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"No you're not," she said before he could stand. "There's no need." She glanced over her shoulder as she untwisted her blouse to see him frown at her. "Go back to sleep. I won't be long."

"No need?" he asked. "Of course there's a need." He jerked his thumb towards the homestead. "There's a murderer out there. Not to mention a very disgruntled detective who clearly has it in for you. I'll hide nearby and wait until you're done."

Phryne stopped what she was doing and huffed out a breath. She turned to face him. "I'll be fine, Jack. I doubt whoever killed Walsh is interested in me."

He looked at her with his mouth open. "You're kidding me. You're investigating the murder. Of course the murderer would be interested in you! And Wright? You're enemy number one in his eyes. Not only did you, a woman, expose him as incompetent, but you refused his advances. I'm hardly going to go back to sleep knowing you're out there alone." He paused and took a breath to calm himself. "I want to come with you."

"I'll be fine, Jack," she said, her voice taking on a tone of annoyance. "It's not like I haven't done this alone before." She shot him a warning look, pleased to see him close his mouth that he'd opened in readiness to argue.

Jack clenched his jaw and pressed his lips tightly together so he wouldn't say what he wanted to say, which would only annoy her further. He sat back up against the bedhead, pulled the sheets and blanket over his nakedness and watched her smooth down her hair as she walked to the door.

"Won't be long," she said breezily.

"Phryne, wait!"

She turned to him, her hand still on the doorknob.

"This is my investigation too," he said, leaning sideways to look at her at the door. "You could at least tell me what you're going to talk to her about."

She looked at him for a few moments and sighed at his worried expression. She walked back and kissed him gently on his lips, unsurprised he didn't kiss her back. She sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to ask her about the girl's home. And about Wright, of course. Depending on what she has to say, I'll also ask what she was doing before Cornelia and I walked into the kitchen this morning to find out who Wright was haranguing."

Jack nodded. "Ask if anyone has been talking to her about her working conditions, so we can definitely rule out the union connection."

Phryne nodded. "All right. I'll be an hour at most."

Jack sighed and held her arm lightly to stop her moving way. "Be careful, Phryne. Promise me you'll be careful."

Her expression softened. "Of course I will." She ran her fingertips though his hair just above his ear so she could caress the back of his head with her nails. "I'm always careful. Please don't worry about me, Jack, I'm good at this." She kissed him again, pleased that he kissed her back this time. She trotted to the door and leant back to give him one last smile before pulling the door shut behind her.

Jack frowned and huffed out a breath through his nose. He flopped back against the bedhead and worked his jaw as he stared at the wall. He shook his head. This is exactly what he imagined being married to her would be like. Two headstrong people who were unused to answering to others suddenly expecting each other to compromise. After the devastation of her emotional withdrawal he tried to focus on how ill-suited they were, mostly as a way of distancing himself from her. He'd imagine frequent fights, mostly in their bedroom as they disrobed together late at night. He would change into his pyjamas after a tough day at work, wanting to read in bed and then snuggle. She would slip into her dark snooping clothes so she could continue her investigations at night. He wouldn't want her to go. She would insist. He would accuse her of being reckless and she would accuse him of trying to control her and remind him that he knew what he was in for with her. She'd leave in a huff and he'd crawl into bed alone, where he would lie worrying and regretting his words, straining his ears in the darkness for the sound of her coming home. Just like he would be doing tonight.

He grunted in frustration and flung back the covers. He got up to dress, regretting not bringing his dressing gown. He started with underwear by the bed and moved slowly into the lounge room where the top half of his clothing lay on the floor by the couch.

Jack turned on the floor lamp and poured himself a whiskey before settling into the cushions. He picked up his case notes. He may as well solve this damn murder while he waited for her.

-o0o-

Phryne walked briskly from her cottage through the trees by the lake. She looked at the sky and tutted in disappointment when saw the moon and stars were mostly blocked by the clouds she had longed for earlier. She moved along the path as fast as she could in the low light, straining her ears for snapping twigs or any other noise, but the wind in the trees made it hard for her to detect any sound made by others. She normally loved the night, but she tonight she felt spooked and for a brief moment she regretted being so pig headed about needing to do this alone. She gave her head a small shake. No, that would have set a bad precedent. She groaned and rolled her eyes. Stupid. What did it matter? He was about to move away from her.

She pushed aside those painful thoughts for now and moved as quickly as she could until she reached the lawn in front of the homestead. She looked for any movement and listened for any sounds. She sniffed the air: no cigarette smoke either. She crouched low and scurried across the grass to the verandah, now thankful for the cloud cover. Her rubber-soled boots made no sound as she tip-toed quickly on the boards to what she thought was Millie's room. Low light seeped through the cracks. She knocked quietly with one knuckle.

She heard footsteps then a muffled and worried voice. "Who's there?"

"It's Miss Fisher, Millie," she whispered, hoping she wouldn't have to explain her reason for being there through the crack in the door.

The door opened slowly and a wide-eyed Millie looked out at her. "I'm not allowed to have anyone in my room," she whispered urgently, scanning the darkness for activity. "Missus says the common room's for that."

"I need to have a private chat with you. May I come in?"

"But I'll get in trouble!" she hissed.

"Millie," Phryne said gently, "the longer I'm out here the more likely it is I'll be seen talking to you."

Millie reluctantly held the door open so Phryne could squeeze in and then shut it quickly. They stood looking at each other before Millie remembered her manners and offered Phryne a seat in a chair by the door before sitting on her bed.

Phryne sat and looked around the tiny room. It was neat and sparsely furnished: a bed and small table with a lamp, a dresser, a chest of drawers and the chair she was sitting on. It was completely devoid of personal belongings, apart from a comb and brush on the dresser.

"You're very neat, Millie. You'd make a good lady's maid."

Millie shook her head. "No lady wants a person like me dressing them, miss."

Phryne looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry, Millie. That was thoughtless of me. I would though. The colour of one's skin makes no difference to me. There are more telling ways of showing one's qualities."

Millie smiled. "Is that how city folk think, miss? Like you?"

Phryne's heart ached for her. She could see the hope in her eyes that there were better places for her and her people. "We're slowly getting better at it. Anyway, I can't stay long. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

Millie frowned. "About what, miss?"

"About the girls' home in Cootamundra."

Millie's eyes widened and she sat up a little straighter. "Why?"

"Because I think it will help us find out who murdered that poor man."

Millie shook her head vigorously.

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "This is very important, Millie. We just want to know if there is a connection between the man who died and the girls' home."

Millie looked down at her hands and stayed silent.

Phryne hesitated and bit her lip. How should she play this? "Millie, I suspect the victim knew something terrible was going on there. I think you came from there so may know something. Will you help us?"

Millie shook her head vigorously. She became emotional and quickly drew the back of her hand across her cheek.

Phryne moved to sit next to her on the bed and took her hand. "Did you? Did you come from the home?"

Millie slumped her shoulders and looked away from her. After a short while she nodded.

"Will you talk to me about it? Pease, Millie, I wouldn't ask unless it was very important."

Millie shook her head again.

Phryne sighed. "We just want to make sure no-one else is hurt. I promise I won't tell anyone I spoke to you, except Inspector Robinson, and I will make sure he doesn't tell either."

"You don't understand miss," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It's just the way it is 'round here. We say nothing."

"About what?"

Millie's breathing had increased and she pulled her hand away. Her voice was barely a whisper. "About anything."

Phryne squeezed her forearm. She decided to change the subject. "How long have you worked here, Millie?"

Millie seemed to be surprised by the question and looked up at her "'Bout six years now."

Phryne cocked her head and frowned. "How old where you when you came here?"

"Thirteen, miss."

Phryne blinked slowly and sighed. "Who brought you here, Millie?"

"Mr Morecroft."

"Harry's father?"

Millie shook her head.

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Harry? Do you mean Harry's father sent you here and Harry picked you up?"

Millie looked at her quietly for a while before shaking her head.

That was not what Phryne was expecting to hear. "But how do you know it was Harry's idea?"

Millie looked away from her and shook her head. Phryne was unsure if that meant she didn't know or wouldn't talk about it.

"Harry's a good person, miss. He didn't hurt nobody."

Phryne nodded and decided to leave that line of questioning for Harry. "Yes, he is." She needed to chat more to get Millie to trust her and relax. "So, tell me, Millie. What did you do when you first started here?"

"Laundry maid, miss."

"That's sounds like hard work. Thank goodness you're a parlourmaid now. Easier work and more money."

Millie looked up at her sharply with a frown. "What do you mean?"

Phryne cocked her head in confusion. "I mean that being a parlourmaid is certainly a step up from a laundry maid. Don't you earn more money now as a parlourmaid?"

Millie frowned again and looked confused. "I don't earn no money, miss. None of us do. Everyone knows that."

It was Phryne's turn to frown. "What do you mean? Does your wage get banked for you or sent to your family? Is that what you mean?"

"No miss. I get food and a room. New clothes when I need them. That's how it works around here. I'm lucky to have my own room and they're good to me here, miss." She became emotional again. "Please don't make trouble for me. I don't want to be sent away."

Phryne was stunned. She opened her mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say. "No money at all?" she said more loudly than she should have. "Surely that's illegal! Is this the same for everyone? Cook as well?"

"Please miss," Millie whispered. "Someone might hear you."

Phryne nodded and whispered her apologies.

"Cook gets paid."

Phryne closed her eyes as she felt her anger rising. She stood so she could pace around the small room with her hands on her hips to try and calm down. Those bastards! Taking advantage of the very people who have suffered the most. She folded her arms and stared at the door with her back to Millie and exhaled slowly. "Well," she said as she turned around to face her. "I most certainly didn't know that." She looked at Millie's stricken face and walked back to the bed to sit beside her. "Has anyone else ever asked you about what you earn, or how you are treated here?"

Millie shook her head.

Phryne placed her hand gently on Millie's arm to reassure her. "Millie, listen to me. It would be better if you told me rather than the Inspector; he won't sneak around at night to talk to you privately. You need to tell me if you have spoken to anyone else about this. Have you spoken to an Aboriginal man from a union about you earning nothing?"

"No miss, no-one's asked me about that. It's just how it is."

Phryne looked at her fighting back tears in her tiny room. Her heart ached for her. She had no family or savings. What sort of future did she have? She blew out a breath to try and control her anger. "Just a few more questions and then I'll be gone. Is that all right?"

Millie nodded.

Phryne had so much to ask her but needed to head back soon so Jack wouldn't worry too much. She wondered what she could ask that would help with the investigation.

"Did Harry know the man who died?"

Millie's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She stood quickly. "It's very late, miss. I have to be up early, what with the extra guests staying for breakfast and all."

Phryne nodded and stood. "Of course. Thank you, Millie. It was very good of you to talk to me, you have been most helpful. I will see you at breakfast, I suppose." She smiled and turned to walk to the door but stopped and quickly turned back to her. "Oh, I almost forgot. I think Sergeant Wright was looking for you this morning." She saw fear in Millie's widened eyes. "Did you speak to him before Mrs Morecroft and I saw you in the kitchen this morning?"

Millie's breathing increased and she wrung her hands. "What did he want to speak to me about?"

"Not sure, I didn't ask. In fact, now that I think about it, he may have been looking for the cook. Yes, silly me, it was the cook he was after."

Millie breathed out and nodded.

Phryne smiled. "I'll be off then. Just to be on the safe side, turn your lamp off before I open the door. That way, if someone's about, they won't see me leave."

Millie nodded and walked to the lamp to turn it off. She turned around to whisper goodnight but Phryne had already slipped out the door.

-o0o-

Phryne was still seething when she reached her cottage. She burst through the door to see Jack sitting on the lounge, going through his case notes under the lamp. He looked at up her, his expression changing when he saw the look on her face. He stood to face her.

"What happened?" he asked. He walked to the sideboard to pour her a whiskey. Phryne took the glass and downed it in one go, handing it back to him for a refill. Jacked raised his eyebrows. "It's like that, is it?" He was relieved she was back, but something had rattled her. He handed her the refilled glass and sat down. "Are you all right?" He patted the couch beside him. "Sit with me."

Phryne sighed as she sat heavily beside him. She put her head back for a short while before turning to see him watching her expectantly. His hair was all over the place and his jumper was inside out, which he wore straight over his singlet. She smiled at his dishevelment and reached out to smooth his wayward hair, grateful he was there to listen and that he wasn't pressuring her to talk.

"She was reluctant to say anything," she said, feeling a bit better after the whiskey had warmed her, "but I got some information out of her eventually. She's terrified of getting in trouble and losing her job." She huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes, "If you could call it that."

Jack frowned and cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

Phryne tucked her legs underneath her so she could turn her body towards him. She was sitting close enough to rest her knees on his thigh. "Something she said about her job intrigued me. I asked her how much she earnt, assuming it would be far less than the others, not just because she is young and inexperienced, but because of her race."

Jack nodded. "That's not uncommon. I would also assume she earns less."

Phryne huffed out a bitter laugh. "It's far less, actually. She earns nothing."

Jack pursed his lips and looked down.

Phryne gaped at him. "You knew she earnt nothing?"

"No, I didn't know that, but it doesn't surprise me."

Phryne became agitated again. "It doesn't surprise you that she earns nothing? She's a slave. She waits on wealthy white people who live off the land they stole from her people, and what does she get for it? Food and board, and god help her if she's not grateful for that!" She shook his arm gently. "Surely that's illegal. Please tell me it's illegal!"

Jack turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head. "I'm not sure about the laws here, but in Victoria, it's not illegal. The State places mixed-race Aboriginal children into the care of white families to work, or they are sent to a home like the one in Cootamundra."

"Put into care!" Phryne stood so she could pace around the room. "You mean taken from their mothers and enslaved by a white family. Who takes these children away?"

"Welfare workers."

"I see," she said icily. "And does this happen on a case-by-case basis or are all half-caste children removed from their families?"

Jack raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. He suspected he was about to bear the brunt of her fury. "Er … well, in Victoria it applies to all children of mixed race, unless the father is still around."

Phryne glared at him and slowly shook her head.

"Legal and mandatory removal of all mixed-race children from their families. Which means, I assume, that the mother is black and the father is white. Well, one can imagine all sorts of disgusting scenarios in the creation of those children, yet typically, it's the woman and her child who are punished." She was furious now and stood with her back to him, arms folded.

Jack didn't need to see her face to know how she was feeling. She could sniff out injustice at a hundred paces and tended to take it hard. He understood. He knew of the burden of empathy all too well. He waited a few moments until he saw her breathing slow. "Phryne," he said gently.

She shook her head vigorously. She wasn't ready to talk. She wanted to walk outside but didn't want Jack to follow her thinking she would walk off into the night again.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

Phryne whipped around to face him. "No Jack," she said. She sat back down and took his hand in hers. She was grateful he knew when to withdraw to give her some space. "But thank you for offering." She gave him a small smile. "I'm not mad at you, just disappointed, yet again, in mankind."

Jack reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "All of mankind? That's a lot of people to be disappointed in."

Phryne sighed and scooted towards him so he could wrap his arm around her and hold her close. "No, not all humanity, just half of it. The male half, in case I wasn't making myself clear."

Jack chuckled. "Oh, so you are mad at me then," he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

Phryne smiled and nuzzled her forehead into the warmth of his neck. She was feeling better already. "Just a little. You are the upholder of some terrible laws, you know."

Jack nodded against her head. "I know. There's a lot of injustice for one person to bear." He kissed the top of her head. "The world needs more Phryne Fishers. It's people like you who continue to fight for change that will make the most difference."

Phryne pulled out of his embrace to sit up and face him. "Or in this case, it's the people who fight for change that end up dead. I think Patrick Walsh was a man who was trying to fight the system. Trying to stop whatever it was that is still happening at that girls' home. Millie was terrified at the mention of it and refused to answer my questions, except to say that it was Harry who brought her to Yarrowee six years ago. She was thirteen. He would have been twenty or so. What's that about?

Jack shook his head. "I almost don't want to know."

"That's what I thought too, but she insists he's a good person. She's terrified of being taken away so she must like it here." Phryne shook her head and blew out a breath. "Cornelia is certainly kind to her, but she's still supports slavery. How can I look her in the eye tomorrow knowing that?"

Jack didn't know how to answer that one so he changed the subject. "Did you ask her about union organisers."

Phryne nodded. She's had no-one, Aboriginal or otherwise come to talk to her. And although she didn't actually say it, I'm now convinced that it was the cook that Wright was arguing with."

Jack nodded slowly. "Hmm. Harry is the key here now. Let's bring him back in for a chat tomorrow. And the cook, now we know Wright's alibi checks out. I don't care how busy she is with the extra guests, I'd like to know the extent of their relationship." He pulled her close again so he could kiss her forehead. "It's late and you've had a tough conversation."

Phryne let her forehead rest against his. "I'm sorry, Jack."

He pulled away to look at her. "For what?"

"For insisting I walk to the homestead alone. Will you forgive me?"

Jack smiled and kissed her gently on the lips. "How about we go to bed so you can make it up to me."

Phryne huffed out a small laugh. "In that case, I should offend you more often."


	15. Chapter 15

_Hi everyone. Finally, some progress with the case ..._

 _Trigger warning:This chapter alludes to sexual assault and other harrowing stuff. Just thought you should know._

* * *

Phryne woke to the sound of light rain on the roof. She turned slowly so she wouldn't wake Jack and looked at her watch on the bedside table, grunting quietly at the earliness of the hour. She would normally burrow down under the covers on rainy mornings and snooze, but not now, not here. She felt heavy, like she was being pushed down into the mattress by the anxiety she felt about the case and Jack's looming departure. Her tiredness didn't help either; they were awake well after midnight discussing Millie and possible reasons for her reticence, both of them needing to keep talking as a way of not holding onto the anger and deep unease they felt as details of the case started to emerge.

They were close to discovering the truth, she could feel it, like she did on most cases she worked on. This time though, there would be no celebration, no thrill in knowing she had worked out the puzzle, no satisfaction in knowing the perpetrator of the crime would be punished. How could there be? At the end of the case, the man who was snoring softly beside her, the man she loved more than she thought possible would be moving away and out of her life. Unless he changed his mind. But would he? And what if he did? What would happen to them? She felt another wave of anxiety that started in her chest and spread through her body, slowly squeezing the breath out of her. There was no doubt about it, either way they were headed for heartbreak.

She managed to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. This case had affected her more than usual, and not just because of the despicable treatment of Aboriginal people. Learning about the abducted children, because that's what they were, took her right back to her childhood, back to when Janey disappeared. As the sister of an abducted child she had thought only of the girls and what they must have endured after being taken from their families at such a young age; the fear they must have felt, the emotional torture, the pain of physical abuse. It was Jack who brought up their mothers. He told her what O'Sullivan had said about how Walsh's wife could lose her youngest children after the murder of her husband and she was once again filled with sadness and rage. She realised she hadn't thought deeply about the mothers and her anger turned to remorse as she thought about how her own mother must have suffered terribly after losing a child. Even though she herself was only a child at the time, she was ashamed that she couldn't see her mother's pain because she was too busy hating her for crumbling, hated her for letting her father take out his impotence and grief on his wife and remaining child. But most of all, she hated her for not having enough strength to show love for the daughter she still had, the daughter they all blamed for Janey's abduction, the daughter who suffered immeasurable grief that would forever change the way she viewed love and attachment.

Phryne felt a tear slide down her face towards her ear. She wiped it away and sniffed as quietly as she could, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She had to pull herself together. She was usually good at controlling her emotions by controlling her mind, so she turned her attention what she'd heard in the kitchen yesterday morning.

 _Do you know how much trouble you've caused?_

Millie was terrified when she thought Wright wanted to talk to her, so it had to be Florence the cook in there with him. She was the last of the staff to be formally interviewed because she and Jack didn't want delay the preparation for Cornelia's party.

She thought back to something else he had said:

 _And stay the fuck away from them._

Who was 'them'? So many unanswered questions: why wouldn't Millie talk to her about the girls home? Was it still too painful to consider after all these years or was there another reason? Why was she so quick to insist Harry was a good person? Were they lovers? She hadn't seen them interact much, but the few times she did see them together they showed no sign of it. No, although he'd been surly and on edge since the murder, she still believed he was decent and genuinely concerned about the welfare of Aboriginal people. And he clearly didn't like Wright, or his father for that matter, two people she suspected were up to no good. She spent the next half hour or so as Jack slept working through about all possible scenarios involving Millie, Harry and Walsh until she finally settled on one that made sense to her.

Jack grunted in his sleep. She turned her head to look at his broad back in the pre-dawn light and listened to his breathing to gauge the depth of his slumber. Dreaming, by the sounds of it. She shifted to lie up against him and slipped her arm under his so she could get close enough to press her cheek to the smooth skin between his shoulder blades. He woke and sucked in a deep breath, turning when he realised she was pressed up against him. He kissed her on the forehead and held her close. They embraced without talking, until they started to move slowly and sleepily against each other. After a while, Phryne pushed him onto his back and climbed on top. Finally, all thoughts of the case and their parting were forced from her mind, at least for now.

-o0o-

Phryne sat next to Jack in the study and reached for his hand. He had asked Cornelia to arrange for the cook to bring them sandwiches when she came in for an interview, knowing Phryne was anxious about seeing her at lunch and dinner, having managed to avoid her at breakfast.

Phryne smiled. She was touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Jack." She squeezed his hand. "That makes me feel much better, although I'll have to see her eventually."

"I know," he said, placing his other hand over hers. "But let's concentrate on the interview with the cook." He looked at his watch. "She's due in about twenty minutes."

Phryne nodded. "So, how will we handle the lovely Florence?"

"Let's make it formal. I'll do the talking."

They talked in low voices about tactics until they heard an assertive knock on the door. Jack opened it and Florence walked in with their tray of sandwiches. Phryne watched her clench her jaw when she saw her but otherwise she seemed unsurprised by Phryne's presence. She put the tray on the table then waited to be told to be seated. She was trying to look confident, but they could tell she was nervous.

"Thank you for the sandwiches," he said. "Please, have a seat." It was the first time he had seen her. She was tall and solid with a broad face and small narrow-set eyes that scowled at him from under a maid's cap that was pulled low on her forehead. Her dun-coloured hair was pulled back tightly into a low bun. He wrote notes while she settled into the chair.

"Right, let's get started then. I'm Detective Inspector Robinson, and I believe you've met Miss Fisher. I've asked her here because I thought you might be more comfortable with another lady present." He pretended not to notice the curl in her lip. "Can you give me your full name, age and place of birth please?"

Florence narrowed her eyes at Phryne then looked at Jack. "Florence Alice McKenzie. Born in Balranald. I'm twenty-nine."

"Married?"

She lowered her eyes. "No."

Jack scribbled a few notes in his notebook. "We just need to get this next question out of the way. Where were you between the hours of four and seven a.m. on the morning of the twenty-third of November."

"I was in my room getting ready until I started work at quarter to six."

"Can anyone vouch for this?"

She shook her head. "Didn't make any breakfasts until after seven."

"Where was Millie? When does she start?"

Phryne watched her bristle at the mention of her.

"Six."

"So, you were both in the kitchen at six."

Florence narrowed her eyes slightly. "No, she was late."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "What time did she get there?"

"Dunno. I'm not the boss of her."

Jack nodded. "How long have you worked for Mrs Morecroft."

She rolled her eyes upwards as she counted the years. "Came here six years ago."

Jack looked up from his notes. "The same year as Millie?"

She shifted in her seat. "Few months after."

Jack pretended not to notice her discomfort. "Where did you work before that?"

"Beaumont Station on the other side of town. I was a maid there for a while."

He jotted down the name then looked up at her. "What was your first job when you came here?"

She frowned, confused by his line of questioning. "Bit of this, bit of that," she said with a shrug. "Cleaning, helped the butcher out, helped the cook. That sort of thing."

Jack nodded. "Who hired you?"

She shifted in her seat again. "Mr Morecroft."

"Harry Morecroft?"

Florence scoffed and shook her head. "His father. Young Mr Morecroft didn't do the hiring."

Jack nodded impassively and made more notes but Phryne raised an eyebrow. Harry employed Millie, even though he didn't do the hiring and his father installed Florence soon after. How very interesting.

"So, tell me, Miss McKenzie, why did you lose your position as parlourmaid?"

Florence looked surprised at the question. She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "You'll have to ask Mrs Morecroft 'bout that."

"I'm asking you, Miss McKenzie."

She huffed out a breath. "She sacked the cook. Put me in the position because someone had to do it, 'specially with the party and all."

"Were you surprised that Millie got your old job?"

Florence frowned and stuck out her chin. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well," Jack said, tilting his head. His tone was calm and friendly. "I was hoping you could tell me a bit more about Millie."

She widened her eyes. "Why?"

"She's a person of interest in the investigation," he said with a smile. "And you've worked together for many years now so I am hoping you can give us some insights into her and maybe the other people here."

"Oh." Florence puffed out a breath and sat up a little straighter. She nodded. "I understand." She had dropped the surly and abrasive tone.

Phryne brought her hand to her mouth to hide her smirk. Too easy. She was enjoying this.

"So, were you surprised?" Jack continued.

"Yes and no," she said. "Mrs Morecroft always treated her different to the rest of us."

"In what way?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. Just nicer. A bit too nice sometimes. Like she was with all them blacks."

Jack tutted. "That must have been hard for you and the others."

Florence nodded and leant towards him. "It's not right, them taking all the good jobs like that. Everyone's hiring them now 'cause they'll work for nothin'."

Phryne clenched her jaw and looked out the window. She was right to dislike Florence the first time she met her.

"Ah," Jack said nodding. "The ones from the missions and homes, you mean? Detective Wright mentioned he was on the board of one of these homes with Mr Morecroft." He put his pencil down and leant back in his seat to adopt a more conversational tone. "He said they were trying to help them. Must be hard nowadays though with all those black radicals causing problems," he said, adopting the inflammatory language of the local paper. "I read about it in the paper the other day."

"They're trouble makers, all right," she said with a sneer. "Trying to do harm to good people."

Jack pressed his lips together. "Have the troublemakers threatened people on the board? Is that what you mean? People like Sergeant Wright and Mr Morecroft?"

Florence folded her arms. "Some people are trying to get it shut down." She was angry again. "Black fools that don't know what's good for 'em. Even white folk too." She flared her eyes at him. "Can you believe that?" She shook her head and scoffed. "They're wasting their time. They won't get away with it."

Jack watched as she shook her head angrily. "How well do you know Sergeant Wright?"

She stared at him with wide eyes. Phryne watched her neck mottle with colour as the blush rose to her face.

"Well enough," she managed. "He's the Sergeant in town. Born and bred Balranald man. He's a good man, Inspector. Like you said, he's just trying to do the right thing at the girls home."

Jack pursed his lips and grunted, "Last question, Miss McKenzie, then you're free to go." She nodded. "Do you know a Mrs Norma Stewart?"

Florence gaped at him. She snapped her mouth shut and frowned. "I … er … know of her. Why?"

Jack shrugged. "She was used as an alibi on the morning of the murder by one of our suspects. She corroborated the claim so I thought you might be able to tell me if you think she's trustworthy?" Jack watched her breathing quicken as she set her jaw and looked down at her hands in her lap. She stood suddenly.

"Don't know 'er well enough to say. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the kitchen." Jack thanked her for her time and watched her hurry out the room.

Phryne looked at Jack and raised her eyebrows. "Well, that was very telling."

"Wasn't it just." He looking quite pleased with himself as he pulled the tray over and inspected the sandwiches before choosing the curried egg. "What are your thoughts?"

Phryne flicked up her eyebrows and puffed out a breath. "I have so many I'm not sure where to start."

-o0o-

It was mid-afternoon by the time Harry entered the study. Jack and Phryne sat opposite each other so he was forced to sit next to Phryne. Jack took no time in getting to the point.

"We believe you knew Patrick Walsh, Harry."

Harry swallowed and blinked quickly when he heard the victim's name. He quickly composed himself and shifted in his seat before leaning back with his legs spread and arms folded. He shrugged a shoulder and shook his head. "Never heard of him."

Jack raised his eyebrows and looked at him long enough for Harry to feel uncomfortable. "Your grandmother didn't tell you? He's our victim. He worked for the Workers Union in Victoria, just as Miss Fisher suspected."

Harry shrugged. "So he was here to talk to the black shearers then."

Jack turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head. "Nope. He wasn't here for that."

Harry set his jaw and looked down at his hands before looking up at him again. "Well, what was he doing here then?"

Phryne twisted to face him. "We were hoping you'd be able to tell us that, Harry."

Harry frowned. "How would I know? I just said I don't know him."

Jack grunted. "Well, we think you did know him, Harry. And I need to remind you that lying to a police officer is a serious offence."

"Why would you think I know him? Who told you that?"

"No-one told us anything," Jack said calmly. "But it's true, isn't it?" He stared at him. When it was clear he wasn't going to answer, he gave Phryne a small nod.

Phryne shifted her chair so she faced him. They were seated so close together that their knees were almost touching. She sensed his discomfort at her sitting so close so she leant forward a bit. "How are you related to Mr Walsh, Harry?"

Harry jerked his head up to look at her. He had paled a little and his mouth hung open in surprise. "What? That's absurd!" He sat back again and buried his hands in his armpits.

"You've lied to me once, Harry," Jack said calmly. "I'm willing to turn a blind eye to that, but not if you do it again."

Harry jiggled his knees and started to breathe a little faster. Phryne leant forward again and opened her mouth to talk.

"Yes!" Harry blurted before she could say anything.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'm related to him."

Phryne allowed herself a smug smile and flicked her eyes to Jack, who smiled back at her. "Go on."

"He's my uncle." He closed his eyes and gave a small shake of his head. "Was my uncle."

"Who was your mother?" Phryne asked gently.

He sat up straight and took a deep breath. "My mother was Elsie, born to a Wiradjuri woman who lived on a mission outside Wagga Wagga. No-one knows who the father was, he could have been anyone, but I know he was a white bastard. The nuns took my mother away when she was four. They raised her, if you could call it that, along with the other kids they took from their mothers. She came here when she was fourteen. He took another deep breath before continuing. "My grandparents were very good to her, from what I heard." His breathing increased and he clenched his fists as he worked his jaw.

Phryne could tell he was struggling. She put her hand on his arm. He looked up at her. "My father got to her," he spat, nodding angrily. "That bastard got to her. She was fifteen, he was twenty-three. She bled to death in my grandmother's arms not long after she'd given birth to me. But not before she told my grandmother what my father did to her." He hung his head. "Grandma was devastated. He denied it of course, but she knew enough about him and his good mate Wright to know it was likely. Couldn't look at him after that. In the end she banished him. Their only child. It near killed Pa."

Phryne and Jack were quiet for a while as they thought about what he had said. She shook her head and blew out a breath. "How long have you known?"

"Ages. Grandma told me after I turned eighteen. She thought I should know. I respected her for that. Sometime after that I travelled to Sydney for a holiday and stayed with Grandma's sister. She gave me details once I told her I knew."

"That must have come as quite a shock to you." Phryne said.

He flicked his eyes up at her. "Yes and no. I had my suspicions."

"Oh? Why?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"No," he said, frowning. "That's my business and not related to this mess."

Phryne nodded. She waited a few moments before pressing on. "How did Mr Walsh find you?"

Harry looked at her. "He didn't. I found him."

"How?" she asked.

"My grandmother and great aunt told me enough for me to find Elsie's mother. It was something I needed to do. She didn't know about me and cried when I told her about Elsie. Near broke my heart having to tell her that. I asked her about her other kids. There were five of them in total: four girls and Patrick. She knew where they all went except for my mother. She never gave up trying to get them back but most of them died before she had a chance to see them again. Patrick was the only one still alive." He threw his head back. "Jesus! They're all gone now."

"Why didn't she know where your mother went?" Jack asked.

"Because there was no record of my mother coming here."

"Why not?"

"My grandparents wanted to adopt an Aboriginal child, but it was too complicated and they would have been shunned by the community so they did it on the quiet. My grandfather was mates with the bloke who ran the missionary back then."

Jack nodded. "I see. So when did you visit Patrick?"

Harry shrugged. "'Bout eight years ago now."

"And he told you about Millie?" Phryne asked.

Harry frowned and shook his head in disbelief. "How'd you know about that?"

Phryne ignored him. "How are you related to her?"

He let out a breath. Phryne watched him work his jaw as he stared out the window. He looked like he was wrestling with whether or not to say something else. He hung his head. "Cousin. Probably half-sister, too."

Phryne closed her eyes briefly then looked at Jack. She could see the sadness and disgust in his eyes.

"That bastard got to loads of them, I reckon," Harry said slowly to no-one in particular. "They all did."

"They?" Jack asked.

Harry blinked slowly as if he were coming out of a trance and shook his head.

Phryne looked at Jack. It was time for him to take over. He gave her a small smile and a nod to let her know he thought she'd done well.

"I know this is hard for you, Harry," he said, "but your uncle was murdered. We're trying to find out who did this to him."

Harry closed his eyes and nodded.

Jack gave him a few moments before continuing. "Why did you lie about knowing him, Harry? Why would you, knowing we were only trying to help? Did your grandmother lie to us too?"

Harry opened his eyes wide and shook his head. "No! She had no idea about him."

Jack and Phryne looked at each other and frowned. "Why didn't you tell her?" Phryne asked.

Harry kept his eyes closed. "I didn't want to put her in danger."

Jack and Phryne looked at each other again. "From whom?" Jack asked. Harry looked down into his lap and was silent for a while. "Harry," Jack said gently, "you're going to have to tell us everything now. And I mean everything."

Harry closed his eyes and blew out a breath. "I know." He paused. "Lots of people. Coppers mainly," he said, opening his eyes to look back at him. "We don't have a high opinion of them 'round here."

"I'm not surprised," Phryne said gently. "But they're not all like Wright, you know.

Harry flicked his eyes at Jack and then nodded. "S'pose. Most are though. The ones I know of at least."

"I'm here to help you and put whoever did this to your uncle behind bars, Harry," Jack said quietly. "Or worse. You don't like Wright; I don't like him either. We know he and your father are on the board of the girls home at Cootamundra."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "So you know about that, too."

"Yes, we do, and I don't trust their motives. I also want to know why your uncle was going to the girls home. We need your help, Harry. Did Millie know he was her uncle?"

Harry put his head in his hands and groaned as he rubbed his brow. He sat upright again and tilted his head back, his eyes still closed. After a few moments, he looked at Jack and nodded. "She doesn't know about me though."

Phryne frowned. "Why not?"

Harry folded his arms. "It's already so complicated."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked.

Harry chewed on the inside of his mouth and jiggled his legs again. After a while he looked at Jack. "You need to promise me you'll look after her."

Jack frowned. "Millie? Why? Is she in danger?"

Harry nodded.

"From whom?" Jack asked.

"From whoever killed Patrick."

"Do you know why he was killed."

"I have my suspicions."

"Go on," Jack said.

Harry thought for a while. "Patrick had been tracking down his nieces and nephews. He was mostly doing it for his mother. She was sick and didn't have much time. Anyway, he found out where Millie was but he wasn't allowed near the place. No relative of any of the girls was. It was harder to break their spirit if they knew someone on the outside still cared for them."

They were quiet for a few moments while they thought about Harry's words.

"Anyway," he continued, "he refused to give up and eventually got in touch with some sympathetic white folks who had joined up to one of the Aboriginal political groups."

"Do you mean Tom Shanahan's group?" Jack asked.

Harry looked surprised. "Yeah, that's the one. How'd you know about that?"

"Read about it. The Australian Aborigines Progressive Association?"

Harry nodded. "They were doing some digging into the missionaries and girls home in Cootamundra. They suspected awful things were going on there, but they couldn't prove it. So when Patrick turned up and asked for their help they agreed knowing he had a relative on the inside that might be able to give them information. Harry took a deep breath before continuing. "It was these white women who got in touch with her. One of them got a job in there and fed information back to Tom and Patrick. It wasn't good. Then someone got suspicious and she was sacked."

"Is that why you brought Millie here? To protect her?"

Harry nodded.

"How did you convince your grandmother?"

"Told her what I did and that she was my cousin. Didn't have the heart to tell her about my suspicions of her being my sister too. She's suffered enough." He leant forward to put his elbows on his knees and linked his fingers. "That's why she was put to work, so no-one would suspect anything."

Phryne nodded. It was all starting to make sense. "Is that why she doesn't get paid? Because it's the done thing around here?"

Harry glared at her. "How'd you know about that?"

"I asked her how much she earnt. She was genuinely surprised by my question because she thought I'd know she earnt nothing." Harry still glared at her. "This was when we were exploring the possible union link," she said as a way of placating him.

He seemed to calm and nodded. "She is being paid, she just doesn't now about it yet. We couldn't risk telling her in case others found out."

Phryne smiled. She was relieved she hadn't embarrassed herself by confronting Cornelia. "I'm very pleased to hear that, Harry."

"Did Patrick visit Millie often?" Jack asked to get the conversation back to the victim.

Harry shook his head. "No." His wife didn't know about Millie. She would have tried to stop him if she did, so he only did it every few months to see how she was going once he knew she was safe here."

"How did he get here?"

"Rowed over. He'd tie the boat up at the woolshed wharf and cycle here on one of the bikes. They had a meeting place by the lake somewhere."

Jack nodded. "Which is what he was probably doing the morning he was murdered."

Harry nodded.

"Does Shanahan know Patrick's dead?" Jack asked

"Yes. I went to see him just before Grandma's party. He's really dirty about it, blames himself, but he's more determined than ever now to get that place shut down and expose the bastards who are doing this."

Phryne looked at Jack. "Do you mean the board members?" she asked him.

Harry nodded. "He's also going after the Aboriginal Protection Board. Powerful white men who are supposedly working to improve the lives of the blackfellas 'round here." He scoffed. "What a bloody joke! That's not what those boards are about. Anyway, he's mainly got it in for Wright. Patrick had it in for him too, after they learnt what went on in that place."

Phryne took a deep breath. She couldn't avoid it any longer. "What does go on there, Harry?"

Harry frowned at her and shook his head. "It's a home run by men that's full of girls and young women. What do you think?"

"I have my suspicions, Harry," Phryne said, "but I'd like to hear what your uncle found out."

Harry looked out the window and shook his head. "They're giving the girls to men who …" He shook his head. "Not only that, they want to kill off the race. Those bastards don't care that these girls die in childbirth. They only care that the child is whiter than its mother." His breathing became ragged as he held back tears. He turned to look at Phryne. "Like me."

Phryne was struggling to hold back her own tears. "And now you can work with others to fight them Harry. You've already started by helping us." She sat back in her chair to give him some space. "Who do you think killed Patrick?"

He shook his head. "Take your pick. Could have been anyone from the board of the girls home, or maybe even the government board. There's even a bloody Balranald group that meets to talk about what to do with them." He sighed and looked out the window. "Can't you see how hopelessly outnumbered we are?"

"Who's on the local group?" Jack asked.

Harry huffed out a wry laugh and looked down at his hands. "Anyone who has opinions on the scourge of the blackfella." He looked at Jack. "No prizes for guessing who they are."

"Your father and Wright?" Jack offered.

"Yeah, no surprises there." He held out his hand, palm up so he could tick off the members on his fingers. "The Mayor, the publican and the wool grader. He's a nasty piece of work. So's his wife. He hosts the meetings at his place by the woolshed."

Jack leant forward. "Who else? Does the butcher go?"

"Nah, he's a good bloke. One of the few around here. The old cook still goes, as does Florence."

Phryne raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Florence goes? As a member or does she cook for these meetings."

"The wool grader's wife cooks," he said. "Florence goes because she hates blacks, no doubt about that. She lost her old job to an Aboriginal girl before she came here. She also goes because she and Wright are … well, you get my drift." He scoffed. "She's sweet on him but he's only after one thing. He's got sheilas all over the place."

Phryne looked at Jack and raised an eyebrow.

"Right," Jack said. "What happens in this group then?"

"The mayor reports back to the local member who sits on the Aboriginal Protection Board. They're trying to help them figure out how to water down the Aboriginal race."

"How do you know that, Harry?" Phryne asked.

"Heard them say it."

Phryne pressed her lips together in disgust. "They really said that?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in these meetings, Harry."

Happy looked sheepish and averted his eyes. "I started spying on them a couple of years ago. They'll be there tonight. Go have a look for yourselves."

"And your grandmother," Jack said, "does she know about these meetings on her property?"

"Yeah, she knows about them. She's not too happy about it either. She's at her wits end with the Bartlettes and is asking around for another wool grader. She sacked the old cook once she found out she was going and then banished Florence to the kitchen when she found out she went too. She should have given her the boot, I reckon."

"Why didn't she?" Jack asked.

Harry shrugged. "Probably because of her party. She might now though. She's been cutthroat about unfit workers before. At least as a cook she was hidden away."

"I hear Florence wasn't too pleased about being relegated to the kitchen."

Harry huffed out a laugh. "She was as mad as a cut snake. I can't believe my grandmother put such an angry person in a position with knives." Phryne and Jack shared a look.

Jack looked up after writing in his notebook. "Thank you, Harry. I know that was hard for you, but it was important for us to hear it."

He looked at them. "You'll need to be careful with this lot, especially Wright. Good people have gone missing all over the place."

Jack nodded. "We'll be careful. I promise."

Jack waited until Harry had shut the door behind him before he looked at Phryne. She was slumped in her chair staring out the window, blinking slowly. He had watched her get more and more emotional as the interview went on. She was hurting. And furious. That's what she did, took all her sadness and channelled it into anger.

"Phryne?"

Phryne looked at him and shook her head. "What kind of society sanctions the abuse of children?" She stood up quickly and paced around the room, just like she did last night in the cottage after coming back from talking to Millie. "And these people have the gall to say they know what's best for the Aboriginal people." She stood with her hands on her hips and fumed. "Children! There are children all over this fine land of ours giving birth to illegitimate half-caste babies, and thanks to the law," she said, narrowing her eyes at Jack, "these babies are legally taken from the mothers, whether they die during childbirth or not, and put into institutions so the cycle continues. The wealthy folks get free labour, the men can do what they like with them, and the Aboriginal bloodline gets diluted." Phryne balled her hands into fists and brought them down hard against her thighs with a loud and anguished grunt.

Jack stood and walked to her. He stood behind her and ran his hands gently up and down her arms. She turned and collapsed against his chest so her forehead was pressed into his neck. She wouldn't let herself cry; she needed to be angry to keep going.

He caressed her scalp with his fingers to help her relax a little and kissed her forehead. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's go for a walk. I want to show you something."

Phryne looked at him. "What is it?"

He smiled and took her hand to pull her gently towards the door. "You'll see."

She walked with him to the door, letting go of his hand when they walked outside. They didn't talk as they made their way down the path to the lake, then stopped in surprise when they saw the water level.

"Goodness!" Phryne said. "Did it rain that much overnight?" All the dry and cracked mud she walked on when she first arrived was now well under water.

"Not sure," Jack answered, "but the storm Mrs Morecroft was talking about upstream would have added to this." He looked up at the ominous grey clouds. "The path is still walkable. Let's keep going before it starts raining again."

To Phryne's surprise he turned left and walked along the path in the opposite direction to her cottage. "I haven't been down this way yet," she said walking beside him through the enormous trees. "Where does it go?"

"Patience, Miss Fisher," he teased.

Phryne smiled at him. It was strange to hear him call her that. Their estrangement seemed a lifetime ago. She reached out and slipped her hand into his, something she couldn't ever remember doing.

Jack smiled at her and brought her hand to his mouth to kiss her fingers. He kept hold of her hand as he walked ahead of her on the narrow path. After five minutes or so, they came to a small wooden structure no larger than a garden shed, on the edge the lake.

"What's this?" she asked, stopping at the entrance to peer in.

"Bird hide." He walked in ahead of her and sat on a bench to peer through a long, narrow cut-out in the wall that looked onto the lake.

She hesitated, looking all around the ceiling.

"No spiders," he said, trying to hold back a smirk. "I checked."

"Really?"

He held out his hand and beckoned her with his fingers. "Yes, really."

She smiled. "You really do think of everything." She walked in and sat next to him, putting her legs on the bench, just in case. "What's this for? Shooting?"

Jack leant forward to lay his forearms on the sill of the cutout and placed his chin on his hands so he could look at the lake. "Possibly, but I suspect it's just a way of observing the birds without spooking them. I'd say old man Morecroft was a bird watcher. Didn't you notice the bird paintings on the wall in the study?"

"Oh, is that what they are," she said with a smirk. "I thought he'd just hung his drop sheets on the wall."

Jack snorted. He put his arm around her shoulder and tugged her towards him. "So cruel."

Phryne snuggled against him and watched the pelicans glide across the lake. "How did you find it?"

"I stumbled across it on one of my morning walks."

Phryne pulled away from him. "Your morning walks?" she said, faking indignation. "You mean you leave my naked body and the warmth of my bed to go for a walk?"

He turned to look at her and raised his eyebrow. "Well, I can't go back to sleep because you snore, so …"

Phryne laughed. "I do not snore."

Jack chuckled. "Sure you do. Like a trooper."

Phryne tutted and poked him in the ribs, forcing him to jump and twist away from her. "Now who's being cruel?"

He pulled her close to kiss her and they chuckled against each other's lips. After a while he pulled away to look at her. "Are you feeling a bit better now?"

She nodded and became serious. "Thank you, Jack," she said quietly.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "For what?"

"For not pushing me to talk about what Harry had said. For recognising I was struggling and giving me time to think." She looked at the lake. "And for bringing me here." She smiled and snuggled back into him. "I would have felt awful for hours, but I feel a bit better now. Can we talk more about it after dinner?"

"Of course, if you're up to it."

She nodded against him. "I will be by then." She turned to look at the lake again. "I hated this place when I first got here. I wasn't in the best frame of mind anyway, but the heat and dryness didn't help. Now we've had a bit of rain, I think it's quite beautiful. Those incredible trees, the lake, the colour of the wet grass." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "And having you here helps."

Jack smiled, drawing her close again to kiss her forehead. When she tilted her face up for a kiss, he turned to straddle the bench so he could hold her face in his hands and kiss her properly, a kiss that told her how much he understood her, loved and wanted her. Although the kiss was exactly what she thought she wanted and needed, it saddened her deeply. She pulled away to look at him gazing lovingly at her and felt her heart break. It was only then that she let herself cry.


	16. Chapter 16

_Hello lovely readers. I must admit to dithering over this chapter – I couldn't decide whether to include it or not as the story feels like it's getting a bit long and most of the pertinent bits could be condensed into a paragraph or two and included in the next chapter. In the end, I decided to throw it in as it gives Phryne a bit of backstory. Plus, I alluded to good memories of her childhood when she was wandering up the main street of Swan Hill back in chapter 3, so this is the explanation for that._

 _Apart from all that, I've always enjoyed a story within a story …_

 _Also, a quick note to the wonderful guest reviewers and others I can't thank personally. Just want to let you know how much I appreciate your thoughtful and encouraging reviews. Thank you. :-)_

* * *

It started as gentle rain as he comforted her in the bird hide. One glance through the cut-out at the low clouds that had darkened to a menacing deep grey told him it was no passing shower. He'd barely finished that thought when the rain became heavier, not heavy enough to drown out her sniffles as she cried away her anger and grief, but enough for him to suggest they should make their way back to her cottage. She nodded and pulled away from his embrace. Seeing her shiny red nose and hair all askew tightened his chest and he had to stop himself pulling her close again so he could kiss away her sadness. He instead brushed away the strands of hair stuck to her cheeks and stood quickly, pulling her up and out of the hide, holding her hand for as long as he could as they jogged back to her cottage.

The river red gums by the lake creaked and groaned as their hefty limbs were tossed around by the wind. Jack pulled his hat down tightly onto his head; he felt uneasy under those murderous trees and moved a little faster along a rivulet that was once the well-trodden path. They emerged onto the grassy clearing near her cottage just as the rain pelted down so hard it stung their faces. They stopped and looked at each other, mouths open in surprise, before running as fast as they could across the grass, holding hands as they chuckled and whooped in delight.

Phryne squealed as she raced up the steps to the verandah. They were still laughing as they took off their hats and pushed back hair that was plastered to their faces. They grinned at each other's bedraggled appearances. Their smiles of joy softened to longing and they lunged at each other, their kisses deep and hard as they peeled off clothes that dropped to the verandah in sodden clumps. Their wet undergarments came off just before they collapsed onto the bed, where sadness and anger were replaced by lust and passion.

-o0o-

Jack noticed the rain had eased up a little. He lay on his back with Phryne's head on his shoulder and her forehead pressed against his cheek. She clung to him: her arm was wrapped tightly around his chest and the rest of her body was draped over him to ensure they were touching as much as possible. He smiled. She was like a limpet after sex.

He kissed the top of her nose and caressed her back, encouraged by her small noises of approval. She slid her foot down his shin and over the top of his toes, curling her leg around his to hold him in place, grunting softly with desire as she ran her fingers the full length of his torso. He groaned out a breath as she gently caressed him while rubbing herself against his thigh. She was insatiable, but she'd have to wait: he wasn't physically ready for another round of sex and was too distracted by thoughts of their parting.

He craned his neck to look at her face. She looked serene: eyes closed, lips parted, focused on her physical pleasure. He smiled, pleased the run through the rain had washed away her sadness. His too; he wasn't immune to the horrors of the case. Their intense sex certainly helped but any euphoria he'd felt afterwards had long faded away and sadness had taken hold again. He closed his eyes and let out a ragged breath as he tried to picture himself walking away from his life in Melbourne, walking away from her. It felt wrong, unnatural. They had to find a way to stay together, they just had to, but when he thought more about what that would mean, he struggled to picture that too.

He turned onto his side and held her tightly. She kissed him, slowly at first then more deeply. He kissed her back, but he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd be losing ...

Phryne drew back and looked at him. "Jack?"

He chided himself for letting his thoughts ruin a special moment between them. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and smiled. "Hmm?"

"You seem … distracted."

He should have told her but he couldn't, not yet. He wanted to delay that conversation for as long as possible. He rolled onto his back again. "I was thinking about your aunt, actually."

Phryne snorted with laughter. "Goodness! I get amorous and you think of Aunt P. I'm not sure what to make of that," she said, not letting on that she knew he was lying. She ran her eyes down his body and flicked up her eyebrows. "Well, it certainly explains your lack of interest."

Jack clicked his tongue. "I'm recovering, if you must know."

"Oh, you poor old thing!" She lay on his chest and folded her arms so she could rest her chin on the back of her hand while she talked to him. She raised an eyebrow. "Why were you thinking about Aunt P?"

"I was wondering about your drive here," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice he was fibbing. "You never told me what it was like to spend so many hours together in that little car of yours."

"It had its moments," she said, trying to keep a straight face, "but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"No?"

She shook her head. "After a few lectures on the problems with young people nowadays she fell asleep, so I was able to relax and enjoy the scenery."

Jack nodded. "The rocky hills were my favourite. Where'd you stop for lunch?"

"Swan Hill. Charming in an outback sort of way. Strange countryside though. All those stunted little trees."

"Ah, mallee country. I had glimpses of it as I was driving through just on sunset. I thought it was beautiful."

Phryne blew out a small laugh through her nose.

He fussed with his pillow to prop up his head and looked at her smiling. He narrowed his eyes at her. "What?"

"I knew you'd find it beautiful. Don't ask me why, I just did. I went for a stroll to stretch my legs while Aunt P had another nap in the car and found myself surrounded by those odd little trees."

"And you thought of me?" he said with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, Jack." She ran her fingertips across his chest. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since I first laid eyes on you."

He snorted out a laugh and shook his head. "Liar." He ran his hands up her arms and caressed her shoulders. They'd spent a lot of time talking in bed after sex. And touching. He sobered and his smile started to fade. He had to constantly fight his sadness now. "Tell me more about your trip."

"There's not much to tell, really." She yawned and closed her eyes, laying her cheek on her hand. "I had to drive at a glacial pace so I wouldn't elevate Aunt P's blood pressure or put any strain on her heart." She looked up and flared her eyes at him. "Doctor's orders. But when she fell asleep, I opened up the Hispano on the patches of newly laid roads. Oh, it felt good."

Jack tutted. "Speeding, Miss Fisher?" he said in his best policeman's voice. "Can't say that surprises me." He ran his hand up her neck to play with her hair. "I bet you were always into speed. I can just picture you belting down the road on your bicycle." He remembered how poor she was as a child. "Did you even have a bike?"

Phryne grunted sleepily. "Not until I was about eleven. Father refused to buy me one. He wasn't the type to build us a go-cart either, so when I was about eight I befriended the kids up the road to—"

"Commandeer theirs?"

Phryne blew out a laugh. "Yes, I suppose so." She pushed up from his chest and kissed him before lying back down on her side to face him.

He turned to her and smiled. "Always scheming."

Phryne smiled back and propped herself up on her elbow to tell him the story. "There were two girls, roughly our age. I was the oldest and would insist on steering, of course. I don't remember much about them except for the ringing in my ears from their shrieking and the finger-shaped bruises on my hips the next day. Poor things had to hang on for dear life as I flew down any slope I could find. Not even the threat of a whipping for scaring the wits out of our neighbours would stop me going as fast as I could in that go-cart." Phryne narrowed her eyes at Jack's smirk. "I know what you're thinking, Jack. I didn't do it to scare them."

Jack chuckled. It felt good to be talking about something other than the case. He gently brushed the hair from her forehead. "I don't believe you."

"Well, maybe I did enjoy scaring them a little bit," she said with a smile, "but when I got in that cart at the top of the hill with my heart racing, I stopped thinking about anything or anyone else."

She sobered and stared out the doorway of the bedroom. "It was the speed I wanted," she said absentmindedly. "Not just for the thrill of it: the faster I went, the less troubled I felt. Poverty, my drunken and abusive father, my miserable shell of a mother … nothing mattered when I was racing down that hill with the wind in my hair. The faster I went, the more I could feel my unhappiness blister and peel away." She huffed out a wry laugh and looked at him. "Like skin a few days after sunburn."

She looked back out the doorway and was silent for a while, still lost in her memories until Jack gently stroked her face. She blinked at him. "Perhaps that's why the whipping afterwards was always harder to take. I felt so gloriously raw after I sped down those hills."

He watched as she drifted off again, lost in her painful memories. He quickly changed the subject. "Tell me about your first bicycle."

Phryne looked at him like she had only just realised he was there. She sat up to face him and tucked the sheet around her for warmth. "I wanted a bike for as long as I could remember. I had big plans about the two of us packing our bags and riding away from my parents so I asked for a bike every year, hoping that somehow someone loved me enough to get me one for my birthday or Christmas, but of course Father refused. We're too poor for such things, he would say, but only because he drank and gambled away any money we had. I hated him for that. He spent the little money we had on his addictions, not the happiness of his wife or children. And he thought riding bikes was too unladylike." Phryne scoffed. "Such a controlling bastard. Anyway, I was determined to have one so I started collecting parts with the idea of making one myself. Stealing bikes for their parts was big business back then, so there were always bits and pieces lying around Collingwood."

Jack made a small noise and nodded. "Lots of bike frames lying around Richmond too."

"They were everywhere," she continued. "I'd sneak the parts home and hide the big bits like wheels behind bushes in the garden, the smaller pieces under my bed, and nuts and bolts in a tin at the back of my underwear drawer. Just when I had all the parts I needed and we were trying to figure out to turn them into a bike, Janey disappeared and my world was turned upside down." Phryne shook her head. "I didn't think my life could get any worse, but it did."

Jack sat up and pulled her close. "I always hated seeing you sad." He kissed her forehead. "I had to stop myself pulling you into a hug on more than one occasion."

She smiled at him then gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I wish you did … Anyway," she said, wanting to continue her story, "that was a terrible time for me, and everyone of course. I probably would have run away if it weren't for the mechanic up the road."

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The mechanic?"

Phryne smiled at how strange that must have sounded. "Yes, the mechanic." She pushed him back down onto the bed and moved closer so she could lean against him. "A few months before Janey disappeared, a new motor garage opened up around the corner of our street. We'd walk past on the way to school and say hello. He'd always be sitting on a stool just inside the entrance reading the paper. He'd smile and tip his hat to passers-by, probably trying to drum up business, but he'd say hello to us too. After a while, we started chatting. He was friendly and interested in us. In a neighbourly way," she added quickly, seeing Jack frown, "not a sinister way. He was questioned when Janey disappeared, but his alibi must have checked out, so they left him alone. I felt sorry for him, being dragged into that mess, but it brought us closer."

Jack frowned again. He was unsure where this story was going.

"He didn't get much business at first," she continued, ignoring Jack's expression, "as you can imagine in that part of town. So I decided I would just come out and ask him if he would help me make a bike. He was my only hope of being able to cycle away to a new life. I didn't have access to tools or anyone else to help me and I couldn't do it at home even if I had those things."

Jack relaxed. "Ah, I see where this is going now. So, you were always forthright. I assumed you grew into that trait. What did he say?"

Phryne grinned. "I remember his exact words. _Why not?_ " she said, mimicking the deeper voice of a man, " _There's not much trade in these parts yet. I'll get you started and you can work on it here if you like_." She drifted off again, flooded with memories of grease-stained fingers wrestling with the tiny nuts on her bike.

"Phryne?"

Phryne looked at him. "Hmm? Sorry, I was miles away. Or maybe I should say years away. What did you say?"

"Did he help make a bike for you?"

She gave him a prod and tutted. "So impatient, Jack! I've never told anyone about this before. You'll have to wait until the end of my story to find out."

Jack rolled his eyes and smiled at her. "Go on then."

"Where was I? Oh yes. I spent quite a lot of time with him in that garage. He was always pleased to see me, unlike my crabby father, so why wouldn't I want to spend time with him? He was probably lonely, poor thing. His wife and daughter died in childbirth a few years before."

"He told you this?" Jack asked, frowning again. "A ten-year-old child?"

"Well, I asked and he answered me. He didn't have to, but he did." She pinched his hip. "Stop interrupting. Anyway, I started wagging school so I could spend time with him in his garage." She chuckled as Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "When I wasn't working on my bike, I would watch him as he tinkered with engines. I was hooked and would incessantly ask questions. That wasn't unusual, I always had an enquiring mind, but I wasn't used to being answered." She sobered and played with the hairs on his chest. "I can't tell you how strange that felt at first. After years of being ignored or told to be quiet, I felt like I was worth knowing." She looked up at him. "He never told me it wasn't for girls to be interested in such things. Nor did he tell me I should be in school. He also didn't tell my father that I would come to see him, probably because he noticed my bruises and wanted to spare me a beating." She smiled. "He treated me like a person, rather than an imposition. I will never forget his kindness. He had more influence on me than my own parents." She huffed out a wry laugh. "A mechanic from down the road."

Jack blinked rapidly. He reached up to caress her cheek and made a soft noise in his throat.

"What?" She watched his expression change. He looked like he was trying to decide whether to tell her what he was thinking.

He shook his head, regretting making a noise. "Nothing."

"What, Jack?" She prodded him. "Tell me."

"Well," he said, wondering how he could say what he was thinking without getting her fired up, "I suppose that explains why sometimes it feels like you are trying to prove yourself. You grew up with no-one believing in you. Except the mechanic of course." He smiled at her, hoping she wouldn't be too put out by his frankness. "I believe in you," he added softly.

Phryne was a little shocked and took a moment to think about what he'd said. After a short while she smiled and watched him relax. "That's quite insightful. I don't think I'd ever be able to pull the wool over your eyes, Inspector."

He smirked. "Appropriate idiom, given our location."

Phryne chuckled. "Anywaaay," she said slowly, "the thrill I felt when we finally finished Frank—"

"Frank?"

"My bike."

"Who'd call their bike Frank?" he teased.

"Short for Frankenstein, of course. Keep up, Jack."

He gave her an exaggerated eye roll. "Frankenstein was the scientist who created the monster, not the monster," he mocked. He poked her ribs, making her squeak.

"I know that now, smarty-pants," she said, poking him back, "but not back then. I'd hardly read the book at the age of ten."

He chuckled as he ran his hand down her arm, happy to see her smiling again. "Go on."

"Well, we finished Frank," she said, giving him a defiant look, "and just before my maiden ride, he ruffled my hair with those big greasy fingers of his and said, _Always happy to help out a fellow motoring enthusiast_. I'll never forget that. I felt special, like I was part of a club. I cried with happiness all the way home on that bike. I think it was the first time I smiled after Janey disappeared."

Jack tutted softly and squeezed her hand. "And your father? What did he say?"

"Oh, I got a thrashing, of course," she said, waving her hand in the air dismissively. "He marched straight down to the garage to confront him," she said with a chuckle. "He must have scampered back straight away once he saw the size of him. Anyway, he got used to the idea eventually."

Jack's heart broke at how she had suffered as a child. He gently brushed the hair from her forehead, trailing his fingers down her temple to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She was quiet, clearly affected by her memories. He sat up again and crooked a finger under her chin to lift it so he could kiss her gently on the lips.

"Do you ever wonder what happened to him? What was his name, by the way?"

Phryne smiled. "Thomas, Tommy to me. And yes, I often wondered what had become of him, and whether he was even alive. After I bought the Hispano, I drove to Collingwood on the off chance he was still there. I didn't hold much hope, so you can imagine my delight when I found him in his garage. He hadn't changed much, aged of course, but nothing like my transformation."

"Did he recognise you?"

She smiled back, a broad smile that lit up her face. "Actually, he did, eventually. He was dumbstruck at first, then so thrilled to see me. He was doing very well: business was booming, he employs six people and had expanded into the factory next door. He showed me pictures of his second wife and teenage children. He was really happy with his lot in life. I was so pleased for him I almost cried. I'd always wanted to repay his generosity and kindness, so he's my mechanic now. He told me being able to work on a car like that made him feel like he'd died and gone to heaven."

Jack smiled, pleased her story had a happy ending.

"Before I went back to England," she continued, "I would go to the garage every few months or so, way more than I need to, and take some of Mr Butler's goodies. We'd chat while he looked at the engine. I told him about my friends at the ladies' automobile club and the car race I drove in last year. I could see he approved and was pleased I'd kept my interest in cars." She paused, lost in her memories again. "He was proud of me. He didn't say it, but I could tell." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "It felt strange," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It took me a while to figure out why." She looked up at him. "As a serial troublemaker, very few people have been proud of me. Going back there made me realise how much influence he had on me. He taught me to be myself and follow my interests, no matter what people thought. He was the best father figure a girl like me could have had. Still is."

Jack looked at Phryne struggling with her memories and blinked away his own tears. He was extremely moved by Phryne's story and shifted on the bed so he could pull her tightly against him. This is why he loved her. This was the Phryne who interested him the most. The kind, compassionate, determined, loyal and fiercely independent woman who had made something of herself after such a terrible childhood. The glamorous and wealthy aristocrat was of no interest to him.

As he buried his face in her hair he was suddenly overcome by the enormity of his mistake. _What do I have to lose_ , he had thought by the lake, delirious with longing as he pressed himself against her. Everything. He had everything to lose, he knew that now: his ability to love another, the last chance of starting a family, his happiness. Never would he be able to move on from her, never would he not think of these days and nights together. Nor could he imagine ever loving anyone else. She would always be his true love; everyone else would be too ordinary, too demure, too dull. The only option he had was to convince her to be with him, and that, given what it meant, was a very big ask. And if she said no, then least he was right about one thing: moving away and severing all ties was the only option if he were to have any hope of happiness because if he continued to see her, he would never be able to move on from her.

Phryne felt his breathing change. Something was wrong. She pulled away to look at him. "Jack?" she said softly, reaching up to caress his face.

She watched him grow serious very quickly. He cupped her jaw in his hands and looked at her intently. She frowned and bit on her lip as she watched him struggle to control his emotions.

Jack saw her worried expression. He wanted so desperately to tell her how much he loved her, but he managed to swallow the words before they tumbled out of his mouth. He took a deep breath to control his breathing but his voice was still shaky.

"I'm proud of you, Phryne. You've made a huge difference to many lives. You are brave and will stand up for what you believe in. I am also proud of you for being you, when almost everyone wanted you to be someone different. You can always be yourself with me, always. You'll never have to prove anything to me. I want you to know that."

Phryne was a little taken aback. Reliving her brutal and loveless childhood had saddened her, but it was Jack's deep love for her and his heartfelt words that tipped her over the edge and her lower lip started to wobble. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she didn't bother trying to stop them.

Jack gently kissed her. He could feel the tremble in her lips as she silently cried so he pulled her head to his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, hoping she could feel how much he loved her.

"You are a beautiful person, Phryne, I've always thought that. And I always will. Your kindness and compassion are why I ...," he shook his head as he held her and struggled to contain the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him, "why I care so much for you. You of all people deserve to be loved and cherished, not because you are beautiful or wealthy, those things don't matter to me, but because of who you are. You are the most wonderful person I have known, or am ever likely to know, and whatever happens to us," he whispered into her hair, "I want you to remember that there is someone who will always think that of you."

Phryne was surprised at the earnestness and of his speech. She didn't know what to say. She pulled away from his embrace so she could look at him. She cupped his face in her hands. "Jack ..."

He managed to smile at this remarkable woman he had fallen completely in love with and felt his heart swell when she smiled back. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips against hers.

Phryne put her hands around his neck and held him tightly against her. He kissed her deeply then, the sort of kiss that emptied her mind of all thoughts. She melted against him and her body became pliant; he could do what he liked after kissing her like that. She grunted in pleasure as he pushed her onto her back, lay on top of her and moved her legs apart with his knees before settling against her. She arched her body against him and he kissed her again, this time with more passion and urgency. His desperate longing for her was exactly what she needed after being rattled by the memories of her childhood. Their troublesome thoughts of the transfer and their inevitable heart-wrenching farewell were temporarily pushed aside by their deep love and desire for each other. That's all that mattered to them, for now.

-o0o-

Phryne wrapped her arms tightly around him and stretched out her legs. "Lie on me."

She sighed with contentedness as he slowly relaxed onto her until she lay under the full weight of his love. She wrapped one arm tightly around him and ran her hand through his hair as she listened to his ragged breathing and felt the strong beat of his heart against hers.

For the first time in a long time she felt invulnerable, not to physical harm, she rarely worried about that, but to intangible dangers that were much more of a threat to her: confusion, doubt, loneliness and sadness.

But her contentedness was fleeting. Yes, she loved him, more than she had loved any other, but she also loved her life before she fell for him, a life she had fought hard to build. She hadn't answered to anyone for years. Freedom and independence meant everything to her, and nothing and no-one had come close to eroding her steadfast position on living a life unencumbered by romance.

Until now, and it terrified her.


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you all for your lovely reviews of my last chapter. This one got a bit long ..._

* * *

Cornelia poured four glasses of sherry. She handed them to Harry and her guests who had gathered in her private sitting room that adjoined her bedroom. She poured one for herself then joined them at her small table. Phryne and Jack had filled her in on what they'd learnt from their interview with Florence the cook, including what Phryne had heard Wright say in the kitchen. This was after Harry had confessed knowing Walsh. They could tell Cornelia was furious with him but she stayed silent. Her steely gaze was enough for them know he was in for a dressing down later on. She was also shocked to learn who the prime suspect was, but not as much as they thought she'd be.

"She's a nasty piece of work," Harry muttered. "I never liked her."

Cornelia shook her head. "It's my fault," she said quietly. "I should never have employed her."

"She told us Frederick employed her," Phryne said.

Cornelia nodded. "She would think that. He probably kept our estrangement a secret. We'd only just started talking again. I hadn't seen him in years, but he came to his father's funeral and approached me afterwards to beg my forgiveness." She waved a dismissive hand. "Said he wanted to heal the wounds he's caused. He caught me at a vulnerable time so I couldn't refuse him. After a month or so, when things had started to improve between us, he asked if I could take her on. He was quite insistent. I thought he might've been be sweet on her and she seemed nice enough at the time. Both were still single and should have been married at their age, especially him. Anyway, I said yes as a gesture of goodwill, mainly." She scoffed. "Little did I know they were Wright's puppets."

Phryne watched her shake her head. She suspected it was more to do with disappointment in herself than in anyone else.

"She did odd jobs at first," Cornelia continued. "She was a decent worker and became useful, that's why I kept her on. I knew she had a temper, but lately she'd become more agitated and angrier than usual after attending those blasted meetings with Doris. The previous cook," she explained when she saw their confusion. "I fired Doris a few weeks back when I walked in on her yelling at Millie. She said the most vile things to that poor child. Florence wasn't much better really, but I had a party to cater for and guests to feed, so I put her in the kitchen." She was quiet for a while then shook her head at Phryne and Jack. "I still don't understand why she would do such a thing. Makes me sick to the stomach to think of it."

Phryne glanced at Jack, who nodded. He was happy for her to talk for both of them.

"We're not sure, Cornelia, but I can tell you what we think. As you know, we suspect Wright asked your son to get Florence a job here so she could keep an eye on Millie and monitor her interactions with Walsh, who was known to the board as a troublemaker. He'd slowly been collecting evidence against Wright and others, thanks to Millie when she was still at the home."

Harry turned to his grandmother. "This is what I was saying. If I told you about Walsh and what he was doing, you may not have taken her in. I'd just found out she was family and was desperate to get her out of there."

Cornelia patted him on the arm. "It's all right, Harry. We'll talk about it later."

"I'm surprised the board let her come here," Phryne said, looking at Harry. "Who makes the final decision?"

"The Chairman, with input from the other board members. I assumed it was to get her away from that place because she knew too much."

Phryne nodded but this didn't make sense to her. Why place her with known sympathisers? She decided to let this go for now.

"Even though Millie made it out," Phryne continued, "her uncle wasn't about to give up. He'd seen what the government had done to his family. He'd watched his mother die of a broken heart, and he'd learnt of the atrocities his sisters endured. He wanted to expose them, and he wasn't alone anymore. He'd found a group of people who were taking on the previously untouchable Board for the Protection of Aborigines, essentially taking on the government. Tom Shanahan was the lead activist, he started the Australian Aborigines Progressive Association." Phryne saw Cornelia nod. She knew of them. "The Board could ignore Shanahan for a while, but when he started to get the backing of wealthy and connected white people, women I might add, the government couldn't ignore him or his group any longer. That meant Wright and other members of the home's board," she said, deliberately not mentioning Cornelia's son, "were suddenly under scrutiny." She paused to let Cornelia take it all in before continuing. "That's why we think Wright was behind all this. He used your son to get his lover installed here, a lover he then cheated on. We think Florence suspected he was cheating on her, not to mention his wife, judging by the way she reacted to the woman's name in the interview." Phryne turned to Jack to let him know he could take it from here.

"This is where it gets a bit messy," Jack said. "We think she killed Walsh to protect Wright, and perhaps to show him just how much she'd do for him, maybe even to convince him to leave his wife for her. All conjecture of course. That certainly fits with what Miss Fisher heard in the kitchen yesterday, which is why we suspected her."

Cornelia closed her eyes and shook her head. "She killed a man, a family man, all because of Wright."

"It certainly looks that way," Jack said. "But we'll know more when we interview her."

"So, what happens now?" Harry asked.

"I rang Inspector O'Sullivan a short while ago," Jack said. "We agreed to arrest her on suspicion of murder and then see if we can get her to talk. She knows Wright was unfaithful to her, on the morning of the murder no less, so she might talk. If not, there's always the threat of the noose to loosen her tongue."

Cornelia pressed her fingers to her mouth and closed her eyes. She shook her head. "What a dreadful mess." She looked at Jack. "When will this happen? Tonight?"

"Uh, no, unfortunately," he said. "I want O'Sullivan to be here for the arrest so he can take her back with him and let her stew in the cell for a bit, but he said the bridge across the Murray is under water thanks to the heavy rain. He expects it to subside overnight, so he'll head out at first light and be here before seven."

Cornelia nodded. "Our causeways are flooded too. I've also heard that the storm will blow over. The water should drain quickly. It usually does." She smiled sadly. "If it wasn't for all this horridness, I'd be ecstatic about all the rain we've had. The lake and all our tanks are full again." She paused. "Are you're sure she doesn't suspect anything?"

Jack pressed his lips together. "I'm as a sure as I can be."

"And Millie?" Phryne asked. Even though it was none of her business, she was curious about what would happen to her. "Will she be told the truth now?"

Cornelia smiled at her. "If she's family, you mean? Yes, we will." She looked at Harry. "It was my idea not to tell her about us." She looked down and gave her head a small shake. "I'm still not sure we did the right thing." She looked up again. "We treated her like we were expected to, so we wouldn't draw attention to her or ourselves. She'll be paid all her earnings, which I have put away for her, when she turns twenty-one. I'll offer her a job here in the running of the station, the book-keeper's job perhaps, she has a good head for numbers, but if she doesn't want to stay on here with us, at least she'll have savings and experience in different areas to get herself a good job." She huffed out a wry laugh. "If they even exist for her people."

After a moment of silence, Cornelia glanced at her watch. "We'd better head to dinner then." She looked at them both. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done. Especially you, my dear," she said placing her hand on Phryne's arm. "If it weren't for you, Patrick Walsh's death would never have been investigated and he'd be buried in a pauper's grave. You're quite a remarkable woman. I hope you realise that." She smiled at Phryne, who beamed back at her. "And you, of course, Inspector," she continued, "I'm most grateful to you for making the long drive out here. Apart from the awful circumstances it's been a pleasure to have you here. I must say, you've restored my faith in the constabulary. You're certainly a cut above the lot we have out here."

Jack nodded his thanks. "I've no doubt you'll be getting new policemen at Balranald when all this is done and dusted, Mrs Morecroft."

She managed a small smile. "One can only hope, Inspector. How much longer will you be here, do you think?"

Jack turned down the corners of his mouth and cocked his head. "It's hard to say. Depends on whether we get a confession. The police here will take up the investigation of Wright now. I'd say at the very least we'll get him for perverting the course of justice. So, perhaps another day or two. Possibly three. I can stay in Swan Hill from tomorrow, if you'd prefer," he said, unsure if she wanted him gone.

"Most definitely not, Inspector! You are more than welcome to stay as long as you need to, unless staying in Swan Hill would be more convenient for you, of course."

"Thank you," he said to her. "I'd like to stay here. Just in case Wright causes more trouble," he added quickly.

"And what about you, Phryne dear?" Cornelia asked her. "I expect you'll want to rush off and take your aunt away from me."

Phryne looked at her aunt. "No, no. I'm happy to stay on a little while too. I'd like to see this case through to the end. Unless you want to leave, Aunt P."

Her aunt glanced at Jack and then back to her niece. "Up to you my dear. It might be nice to have at least a couple of days once this is all over." She widened her eyes and shook her head. "It hasn't quite been the relaxing holiday I had in mind."

-o0o-

They all picked at their dinner; they were eating food prepared by an alleged murderer after all. Jack and Phryne excused themselves after the main course. He had his report to write up and needed Phryne's help, given she'd witnessed the interview that morning. They drove quickly to her cottage, mostly to beat the rain that had started up again. It was heavy, but not like the afternoon downpour.

They huddled together in front of the small fire back in her cottage and listened to the deep rumble of distant thunder. Their coats, still damp from their afternoon sprint through the heavy rain, were draped over the seat closest to the fire. Jack sat at one end of the lounge, leaning towards the lamp light with his notebook on his lap. Phryne sat close to him, whiskey in hand. Her legs were folded under her, her knees pressed against his thigh. She let her eyes roam slowly over him, taking in his open collar and rolled-up shirtsleeves. Unbuttoned suited him, she thought.

Jack clicked his tongue. She dragged her eyes away his sinewy forearms in time to see him shaking his head.

"Killing to prove your love." He took a sip of his whiskey. "It's still hard to believe, but it's the only thing that makes sense."

"Women have killed in jealous rages before, Jack."

"I know, but stabbing? It seems so ... aggressive."

Phryne tutted. "Aggression's not only limited to men. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and all that."

He smiled at her, "I think you mean, _Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned_."

Phryne gave him a poke in the ribs, causing him to chuckle. "Silly me, thinking I can get away with a literary misquotation with you." She leant over to peck him on the cheek, staying close so she could peer at his notes.

He shifted his arm so he could put it around her shoulder and pull her against him. He looked at her and smiled. "The stupid things people do for love."

They gazed at each other until Jack kissed her on the forehead. "I'll feel better when she's behind bars, although I'm a bit worried about this rain. Hopefully we're not flooded in tonight. Did you see how full the lake was?"

Phryne widened her eyes. "I did! I'm amazed at how quickly that happened. I must admit I'm a bit worried too. We're much lower here than the homestead."

"We should be fine," Jack said, squeezing her hand. "O'Sullivan and Cornelia both think the water will subside overnight. I'm sure the Morecrofts will be monitoring it." He was quiet for a while as he thought about the arrest in the morning. "It's probably best you don't sit in on the interview tomorrow. Not sure how O'Sullivan would feel about you being there."

"That's fine, Jack. I understand. I never thought I would."

He smiled, pleased she didn't insist on being there. He put his head back to give his neck a break from looking down and closed his eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the softness and warmth of her body pressed up against him. He'd imagined cuddling with her in front of the fire many times, but it was always in her parlour, not his place and definitely not on a sheep station in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his notes but was distracted by having her so close. He stopped reading and watched her study his notebook with a small frown on her face. He smiled as he wondered if she was pondering motives or trying to decipher his scrawl. He kissed her temple, his smile fading when a wave of anxiety washed over him; he couldn't ignore thoughts of their parting any longer.

She tilted her head up to look at him and they gazed at each other in their own special way. She loved him, he was certain of that now and although the thought flooded him with a warmth no whiskey could match, it also unsettled him. Why did love have to be so complicated? Why did she have to be so complicated? _It's always complicated with you_ , he had said to her early on in their relationship. If only he'd known what lay ahead for them.

He kissed her gently on the mouth before pulling back to look at her. She smiled and playfully pursed her lips, demanding he kiss her again, which he did, but not without wondering if it would be their last night together.

He put his notebook and pencil on his lap so he could trace her brow with his fingertips before running them down her temple to tuck her hair behind her ear in one sensuous stroke. He loved doing this; only lovers touched each other like that. He kissed her again, gently holding her lower lip between his, brushing it with his tongue then deepening the kiss when he felt her hum. Despite spending much of the last few days kissing her, he still felt a tug deep in his belly at the first touch of their tongues. He twisted his body towards her and held her head in both hands so he could kiss her more passionately, ignoring the thud of the notebook as it slid onto the floor.

They tried to push murders, and transfers out of their minds as they lost themselves in each other, like they'd done many times recently. Their kissing grew more passionate until they sensed each other's distraction and they slowed.

Phryne withdrew but kept her face close so their noses were touching. He pulled away to look at her. She angled her face down and blinked. When she flicked up her eyes to look at him, he could see nothing but sadness. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She leant against him and put her head on his shoulder. Jack felt her breathing change as she nuzzled into him and he squeezed his eyes shut; he'd been dreading this moment. He gently swayed to soothe her until he couldn't put it off any longer. He pulled back and tucked a finger under her chin to lift her face. She was trying very hard not to cry.

He kissed her on the side of her nose. "Phryne."

She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

He caressed her cheek with his fingertips. "We need to talk."

She looked at him and sniffed. "Not now."

He cradled her head in his hands and leant in. "We have to."

She shook her head again, more emphatically this time. She linked her hands behind his neck. "We can talk tomorrow, or when the case is over. One more night, Jack, please."

She tried to kiss him but he moved his head back and pulled her hands from his neck. He shook his head. "I need to, Phryne. It's all I think about now."

Phryne closed her eyes and sighed in disappointment. After wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, she sat up to put some distance between them. She looked down until she felt more in control of her emotions then lifted her head to look at him, pressing her lips together to stop the wobble in her chin.

"What's there to talk about?" she managed in a wavering voice. "The case is all but solved, we'll be heading home soon, and we both know what that means. From what you've said, I assume there's no going back from that." She hesitated. "Unless you've changed your mind."

Jack turned to look at the fire and inhaled deeply. He blinked slowly and blew out his breath so it puffed up his cheeks. He turned to her. "I … er … could stay, but it would have to be for a very good reason."

He looked at her waiting expectantly for him to continue. His heart thumped in his chest as he composed sentences in his head. He looked down at his hands and then at the fire again, trying to summon the courage to say the words that had filled his head for days.

"Jack?"

He looked at her and swallowed. He reached for her hand, momentarily distracted by the smallness of it. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He shook his head, still looking at her hand in his. He couldn't even form the words in his mouth.

Phryne stroked his cheek. "Jack." He looked up at her; he was pale and stricken with grief. She closed her eyes to shut out the painful sight of him steeling himself for rejection. She opened them again so she could look him in the eye. "I can't marry you."

He blinked rapidly as he processed what had just happened. He let go of her hand and looked away from her, nodding slowly. After a short while he turned to her. When he spoke, his voice was soft and a little shaky. "Can't or won't?"

Phryne wiped her eyes. She moved closer to hold his hands. "Both," she whispered.

Jack huffed out a breath and closed his eyes. "So, this is it then?" He looked at her and frowned. "This incredible thing we have between us?" He shook his head. "I pack up my life while you unpack yours and we live the rest of our days like this never happened." He leant in closer. "We are good together, Phryne, I know you feel it, I know you do. I see it in the way you look at me and can feel it when we kiss."

Phryne closed her eyes. "Jack … I …"

"What? You don't think I know you well enough to know what you're feeling? I have lived and breathed you these last couple of years." He held her hands. "I know you have feelings for me, Phryne."

Phryne looked down. Her breathing became ragged and she couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She cupped his jaw. "Please don't leave. I can't bear the thought not seeing you again, I just can't."

Jack put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her close so their foreheads were touching. "Then marry me, Phryne. Don't walk away from me. Please don't."

Phryne put her hands in his hair and closed her eyes. After a few moments she shook her head. "I have to, Jack. I can't marry you. Please don't keep asking me."

Jack pulled away to look at her but she wouldn't meet his eye. He wiped his cheeks with his fingers and sniffed. "Why not?"

She shook her head, still not able to look at him. "Lots of reasons." Her voice was barely audible.

"Oh." He nodded. "I see. Am I that unmarriable?"

Phryne looked up quickly. "No Jack! That's not what I meant." She cupped his jaw in her hands. "You are the most eminently marriable man I have known. It's me that's unmarriable."

"Why though? Why do you keep saying that?"

Phryne threw her hands up in the air. "Do you really have to ask me that, Jack?"

"I know you think you're not the marrying type, but that was before our time here together, before us. Hasn't this last week changed anything for you?"

She leant forward and put her hand on his knee "It's changed everything for me. That's the problem. We've been through this, Jack. I don't think there's anything more I can say."

"Yes, there is. It's different between us now. You didn't like how you felt in England because you missed me. I'm here now, Phryne, we're here together. We can make this work."

She shook her head. "I won't marry. You must know that. Not ever."

He looked at her in disbelief. "Not even if it meant losing someone you have feelings for?"

Phryne hung her head and nodded.

Jack stared at her in disbelief. "How could you think that way?"

Phryne looked at him frowning at her and huffed out a breath. It was true, he did know her better than almost anyone else, so she thought he of all people would understand. "It's complicated, Jack, and nothing to do with you. Surely you must know that."

He clicked his tongue. "Jesus, Phryne! This has everything to do with me. I just asked you to marry me. Helping me understand why you said no is the least you could do."

Phryne closed her eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry Jack, that was a stupid thing to say." She shook her head. "I've said a lot of stupid things lately. I just don't feel like myself anymore."

Jack frowned. "Why? What's changed?"

Phryne put her hand on his forearm. "Everything. My feelings for you have complicated everything. These last few days have been so very special. I've felt intensely happy with you Jack, but I've also felt anxious and conflicted, and that terrifies me.

"Why?"

Phryne was quiet for a while. How could she explain something so complicated, something very few people would understand?

"Because I've loved and lost and my grief was so intense that I swore to myself I would never let myself be so vulnerable again."

Jack looked at her quietly for a short while. "Janey?"

She nodded. "It's complex and deeply personal so I wouldn't blame you for not understanding."

"Try me."

Phryne looked at his sad face. He was right, it was the least she could do. She took a deep breath. "When Janey was taken, I not only lost my sister but my one true friend and ally. My world crumbled around me. I had a choice: I could fall into a heap or I could take control of my emotions. I chose the latter," she said, staring into the fire. "It hardened me." She looked back at him. "How could it not? Of course, over time I had feelings for people. I'm not sure I would call it love, but I did feel attraction and fondness. And then the war came and I lost them too. The one time I let my guard down," she said, knowing he'd know who she was talking about, "the one time I allowed myself to get too attached, I was abused. I felt vulnerable again, controlled and powerless." She squeezed his hand. "That's what terrifies me."

Jack squeezed her hand back. "I'd never do that to you. Surely you know that. I'd never try and control you."

She stroked his cheek. "I know you'd never treat me badly, Jack, but marriage comes with expectations. Can you honestly say you wouldn't expect me to change in some way?"

"I've always said I'd never try and change you. You could still do all the things you do now. You could still be you."

Phryne sighed in frustration. "Could I though, Jack? I'd make a terrible wife. I'm too difficult, unconventional. How could it possibly work? I'm a trouble maker. I want to improve rights for women, change laws, make a difference. Stir the pot and shout from the roof tops. What happens when I do what I want to do and you don't want me to do it, or it doesn't suit your idea of what a wife should say or do? Would you ask me to stop, or not do it in public? Would you expect me to change my behaviour to suit that of a senior public servant's wife? I would cause you grief whether we were married or not, that's why I tried to push you away. Believe me, I have thought this through. We can never be, not in a serious, permanent way."

Jack shook his head. He didn't know what to say but he wasn't going to give up that easily.

"I've worked so hard to be someone I'm comfortable with," she continued, "and I don't want to change that. Not what I do and especially not how I act. I'm not used to having to say what I'm doing or justify my actions and I've never had to consider the feelings of others. I've done what I want with whom I want. That doesn't mean that if we were together I would still feel that way, but the point is, I don't know how I would feel. Think about it, Jack, we've had five days together and you expect me to commit to you for a lifetime. Just the thought of that terrifies me. I've never stayed in relationships for long. I've never had to live with routine. I don't know how to do that. So how on earth could I agree to marry you?"

Jack clicked his tongue. "Five days? We've spent years getting to know each other. The roots of a good relationship are already there, Phryne. A marriage is something that is worked out between two people over time. There is no manual for this. The only prerequisite is love and respect and perhaps some mutual interests. We have that. These last few days have proven to me that we're good together."

"It's not enough, Jack." She sighed. "I don't want to marry. I won't marry. It's not for me."

"You keep saying that, but how can you know that?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"I may have once, but not now. Not after our time together."

Phryne clicked her tongue at him. "This has nothing to do with my feelings for you. These last few days have been like nothing I've ever experienced or may experience again. It's about how marriage would change my life."

"Yes there'd be changes, but—"

"Jack!" Phryne was getting frustrated now. "You don't understand. It's not just about marrying you, it's about marriage in general, and what that would mean for me, what it means for every woman who marries. I'd go from being a person to being a possession."

Jack shook his head. "That's ridiculous, Phryne! I would never try and possess you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Whether you'd want to or not, Jack, it's the law. You'd get control of everything. All my possessions. You'd also have control of me. That's what marriage is all about ... control. Men controlling our money, our behaviour, and our bodies."

Jack frowned at her. "Like it or not, Phryne, we live in a patriarchal society. That won't change any time soon."

Phryne set her jaw. "Well, I don't like it and I won't be a part of it!"

Jack clicked his tongue in frustration and shifted away from her. "Since when have you cared so much about what the law or society thinks? Marriage is what you make of it. I'd have to be pretty bloody stupid to think I could ever control you. Do you really think I would use marriage as a way of controlling you?"

Phryne looked at him. "Yes, I do."

Jack's mouth fell open. "What? How could you think that? You really think I'd try and possess you? Control you and your fortune? Jesus, Phryne!" He turned his body away from her then twisted his neck to look at her. "I can't believe you would think that!"

She shifted on the lounge to see his face. "I don't think for a second you would try and possess my belongings, but yes, I do think, deep down, you want to possess me. Isn't that what marriage is? A way of declaring that I am yours now. A wedding ring to ward off potential suitors and show I'm taken? I believe that's the language used for marriage. I don't want to change my life in that way. I'd lose my independence, have to let you know what I am doing and where I am going. I'd have to consider you in my actions."

He looked at her and shook his head. "So would I! I've been alone now for years but would gladly do that for you. Why would it be so hard for you to do the same?"

"Because just the thought of having to do that makes me feel stifled, Jack. I have been controlled in some way or other most of my life. By my father, by poverty, by men, and by grief. Having complete financial and emotional independence is something I have worked very hard for. There's no going back from that, Jack."

Jack clicked his tongue in frustration. "Have you not heard a word I've said? I would never try and control you!"

"Well, I'd still feel controlled!" she said, growing more frustrated. "It's the law, Jack. The house would be transferred to you. I'd lose my bank account. You'd have to give me an allowance. Can you imagine how I'd feel about that? I'd never be able to write a cheque again. I'd have to ask you to do it on my behalf, and even then it would be in your name. All those things I've worked hard for that you take for granted would be taken away from me. I wouldn't even be a person anymore in the eyes of the law, just a wife. Man and wife, that's who we'd become. I don't even get to keep my name. I'd be Mrs Jack Robinson. Your new appendage. I'd even have to vow to obey you until death do us part. Can you see how that would never work? Think about it Jack."

He put his hands up in resignation. "All right, I get it." He stood up and stared into the fire and worked his jaw. "You don't like the idea of marriage", he said turning to her, "but to let that get in the way of being with someone you care deeply for? That's absurd."

Phryne was angry now and stood quickly. She moved to stand close to him. "I'd hoped you of all people would understand, Jack, but obviously not! Let me spell it out for you. I will never support an institution that treats women that way. Marriage, devised by men so they can legally possess girls and their bodies, girls who have been traded like commodities all throughout history. Virgins given away by their controlling fathers for their future husbands to control. Here you go," she said, thrusting her hand out towards him, her voice raised in anger, "she's all yours now. Do what you want with her, enslave her, rape her even. Go ahead, kill her if you like, the law's on your side."

He spun around to face her. "Stop it!"

Phryne jumped and took a step back from him.

Jack raised his hands in an apology and took a deep breath to try and calm himself. "What I don't get is how you can think so little of what we have that you'd rather me leave town than be with me out of protest for an institution you don't believe in."

Phryne took a step closer to him and clenched her jaw. "Don't you dare try and put that on me!" she spat. She pointed at him. "You decided to pack up and leave. I told you I'd stay away from you if that's what you wanted. Never did I suggest you move out of Melbourne. That was entirely your decision!"

They stared at each other, nostrils flared, chests heaving with deep, angry breaths. The forgotten downpour and crackle of the fire were deafening in their furious silence. Jack hung his head and sat on the lounge. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. After a while he looked at her. "You're right. I'm sorry I said that. That was entirely my decision." He sighed heavily. "You've made your point, I won't waste your time trying to change your mind. I came into this, whatever this may be, knowing how you felt." He looked at her as she sat down next to him. "As much as I want this and believe we can make this work, you don't. He shook his head. "What it comes down to is me wanting you more than you want me."

Phryne sighed in frustration. "It's not that simple, Jack. This isn't about an imbalance of feelings. You're wrong if you think I don't care for you deeply."

He couldn't meet her eye and looked away from her again. He huffed out a wry laugh. "How ironic. I've succumbed to all you've fought against. Deep attachment and vulnerability, being controlled by one's emotions." He nodded. "I said I needed to walk away from you, so I will."

They sat in silence, both of them trying to come to terms with what just happened. He sat motionless and stared into the fire. Phryne put her hand on his knee. "Jack." He wouldn't look at her. She gave his knee a bit of a shake. "Jack, look at me. You don't need to move away and upend your life. I meant what I said. I will keep out of your way, even if that means not taking any cases for a while. I will honour that. It's the least I can do. And maybe later when things settle down, we could be friends again. Or maybe we could agree to stay friends, still have afternoon tea in my garden, or whiskey in my parlour." She hesitated. "And if you want to, we can still be intimate."

Jack scoffed at her and pushed her hand off his knee. "I can't do that."

Phryne sat up and put her hands in her lap. "Can't or won't?"

He narrowed his eyes at her but remained silent.

"Go on," she said, "say it. Both. We don't need to be married to still see each other. Why can't we still be lovers?"

Jack scoffed. "You need to ask me that? Do you really think I'd want to be your casual lover?" He scowled at her. "And would I share this role with others?"

Phryne opened her mouth to respond but closed it again. She couldn't answer that question.

"Well, would I?"

"No!" She became flustered and held out her arms. "I don't know. That's the point, I can't promise you anything, because I haven't done this before."

"Then what you're asking of me is ridiculous. How could you even think I'd consider that? I'd wonder the whole time who you were seeing. And even if it was just me, I'd have to sneak to and from your house under the cover of darkness to keep our relationship secret. I'm not going to do that. What do you think would happen when we're found out? I would be pilloried. A supposed upstanding member of the public service, a senior detective inspector no less, cavorting with a well-known socialite. The very same police officer who exposed senior policemen visiting prostitutes, officers who later lost their jobs. It would cause a scandal and I'd become a political football: a hypocritical and morally corrupt senior policeman who brought shame to the force. Don't you see? We couldn't possibly be together without marrying. I don't want a casual relationship with you. I won't share you and I don't want to risk my reputation and job. I want us to be together, officially, lawfully."

They looked at each other, both of them realising the hopelessness of their situation. Two people who loved each other but couldn't agree on a way to be together.

Phryne hung her head and waited until he had calmed. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "You deserve better, Jack," she said quietly. She lifted her face to look at him. "Someone who'll marry you, have your children perhaps. It's not too late for you to have a family. Isn't that what you want? Would you really give up the chance to have a family to be with someone like me?"

He stared at the fire and worked his jaw. "Not someone like you," he said quietly, before turning to look at her, "only you."

He stood quickly. "There's no point to me being here anymore." He moved around the cottage, gathering his belongings.

Phryne also stood. She wanted to ask him to stay but what else would she say to him? She could tell him she loved him more than she'd loved any other man, and that she too was heartbroken, but she doubted he would believe her. He started to walk towards the door.

"Jack, wait!"

He stopped and closed his eyes but wouldn't turn to look at her.

She stood in front of him. "Please don't leave. Not yet."

He turned from her to put on his coat. "Why? What else is there to say?" He kept his back to her as he tucked his notes and wallet in his inside pockets and his gun under his belt in the hollow of his back.

"Please Jack! Look at me."

"No."

She walked to him and pulled on his arm to turn him. "Jack, you knew all along this would happen. You knew how I felt, I told you everything by the lake, and now you're angry with me."

He looked towards the door. "I'm not angry with you."

"Then what are you feeling?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He frowned at her. "I'll let you figure that one out. Yes, I instigated this between us, I'll accept that. But then we were intimate, intimate in a way that made me think we could have a future together." He sighed. "That stops now, Phryne. I promised myself I'd move on from you and now I will honour that. There'll be no more pathetic ideas about a relationship with you. Never again."

Phryne stood in front of him so he'd look at her, not caring that her tears were flowing freely now. She grabbed hold of his lapels and shook him. "Jack, you are not pathetic. You are not." He still wouldn't look at her. "I'm the pathetic one." She looked at his stricken face. "Unable to let myself love anyone."

Jack scoffed. He didn't pull away, but he didn't touch her either. That had to stop. "You are perfectly capable of loving, you just won't admit it because it's not who you want to be."

Phryne looked at him quietly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his neck, relieved when she finally felt his hands on her. Her relief was short lived; he was pushing her away.

He turned from her and without another word, grabbed his hat and walked out the door and into the storm.


	18. Chapter 18

_Hello lovely readers. Thanks for your comments on the last chapter. I was very interested in reading your take on how their relationship could work... or not. Also, I feel I need to include a trigger warning: this and the next chapter contain flood scenes._

* * *

Phryne sat up in bed and frowned in confusion. Rain was pounding on her roof but that wasn't what she'd heard. There it was again: someone was thumping on her door.

"Miss Fisher!"

She glanced at her watch on the bedside table: almost one in the morning. What now?

"Miss Fisher! Are you there?"

It was Harry. She put on her robe and raced to the door. He was standing on her porch, drenched from the short dash from his car.

"The lake's burst its banks and we're going under," he shouted above the din of torrential rain. "You'll need to move to the homestead. We're on higher ground there."

She stepped aside and motioned him in, peeking out the door at the storm once he'd passed her. She sucked in a breath; the light from her cottage illuminated the water's edge, a mere ten yards or so from the steps to her verandah and half way up the tyres of her car.

"Goodness!" She slammed the door shut, turned and raced into the bedroom, yelling, "Give me a few minutes," over the din of the rain. She hurriedly changed and packed, passed him her suitcase, collected her bag and the bottle of whiskey, and scurried to her car so she could follow him to the homestead.

She drove as fast as she could in the low visibility. Sheets of rain blowing in all directions reflected the light from her lamps, blinding her and obscuring the contour of the road. But Harry knew the way, so she drove as close as possible to his car, not just so she wouldn't drive into the water, but also to avoid the sheep that were crowded together on higher ground of the road.

They parked in the shed under the peppercorn tree. Harry waited by her car with an umbrella. Even in the low light she could see he was tense. He pulled her suitcase from her car.

"My, my," she said above the din of the rain on the corrugated metal roof. "This is quite a downpour. Do you get flooded often?"

"Yes, but not like this." He shook his head. "This'll be a big one."

"How can you tell?"

"Still pissing down upstream," he yelled as they made the dash to the verandah, not bothering to moderate his language for her. "We're completely stuffed if it doesn't ease up soon."

"In what way?"

"The sheep'll drown. Plus, the roads out are all under now, so we're stuck here for a bit."

They reached the door to the sitting room. Harry told her to join the others while he took her suitcase to her room. "I'll put you next to the Inspector's," he said, winking as he handed her a key.

Phryne ignored his impudence and opened door to see Cornelia and her aunt huddled on the lounge. She recognised some of the station workers who were seated in groups. Jack cut a lonely figure standing by the window, hands in his pockets as he stared into the darkness. She moved into the room and stopped short when he turned. He looked wretched: sad, puffy and dishevelled. They sized up each other's misery before her aunt appeared in front of her.

"Phryne dear! Thank goodness!" She gave her a bone-shattering hug. "I was so worried you'd be washed away."

Phryne put her hands on her aunt's shoulders to gently push her away. "I'm here now, Aunt P."

Her aunt narrowed her eyes. "You look dreadful, my dear. Is everything all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. She squeezed her aunt's hand. "I could do with a tea though." She walked to the table laid out with food and beverages, watching Jack, who completely ignored her, out of the corner of her eye. She sighed and took her tea to sit with her aunt and Cornelia. It was going to be a long day.

Harry came back in and spoke to everyone in the room. "As you probably realise by now, the storm upstream was worse than we thought. The water reached us a few of hours ago, cutting off all roads in and out of the property. We thought it'd drain quickly but a wind change has blown the storm back on us, so we're getting some pretty heavy rain now. The river and lake burst their banks, so most of the property is a couple of feet under water and rising fast. That means we're stuck here for a bit. We've plenty of food and water, so we'll just have to sit it out. The good news is, it's blowing a gale out there, so the storm should pass over soon. The water will drain quickly after that, it always does, so we won't be stuck here for more than a day I reckon." He hesitated. "I know you all know this," he said, glancing at Phryne and Jack, "but I've gotta say it anyway: whatever you do, don't play the hero and try and walk or drive through the floodwaters or causeways. It's flowing pretty bloody fast out there now. And get some sleep, if you can."

Harry nodded to the staff and walked to his grandmother. He bent down and whispered in her ear. She frowned and blinked rapidly.

"Is everything all right, Cornelia?" Phryne said in a low voice.

She turned to her and gave her arm a squeeze. "I'm sure it's fine dear." She glanced at the rest of the staff then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Harry can't find Millie or Florence."

Jack had watched their interaction and walked over. He sat opposite Cornelia and leant forward so he could talk quietly. "Is there a problem, Mrs Morecroft?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Perhaps we should talk somewhere private."

They moved up the hallway to the office. Once inside, Harry shut the door and turned to Jack.

"We can't find Millie or Florence. I've searched the homestead and asked around but no-one's seen them. A few staff are still rounding up sheep, so I haven't asked them yet, but I doubt very much they're with them."

Jack nodded. "When was the last time she was seen?"

"Around ten," Cornelia said. "She brought me my tea before she went to bed."

"Then there's no way they could have left the property," Harry said. "We've been flooded in since around ten when I checked the causeways."

Jack grunted his understanding. "Well, we can't rule out abduction. If Florence took her, where would she go?"

Harry shrugged. "The Bartletts? They hosted their hate group earlier, remember?"

Jack huffed out a breath and rubbed his brow. "Yes, of course, I'd forgotten about that." He blinked slowly and shook his head.

Phryne waited for him to flick his eyes at her. She was the reason he was so absent-minded lately, but he didn't; he hadn't looked at her since they locked eyes in the sitting room.

"Wouldn't they have cancelled their meeting in this weather?" Jack asked.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't been there yet. Maybe. Depends on when they got here. They usually start after dinner around half-eight." He glanced at Cornelia, knowing she would ask him later how he knew that. "The causeways were still passable then. They would have realised they were flooded in when they tried to leave, which is usually around ten-thirty."

Jack made a small noise in his throat. "I can't see why she'd take her to the Bartlett's." He looked at Harry. "Unless they're all in on it." He pressed his lips together as he thought of what to do. "We'll have to go look for her."

Harry nodded. "We can poke around the woolshed. Plenty of places to stash someone there and then we can stop by the Bartlett's on the way back. I have to check on them and the shearers anyway." He shook his head and blew out a breath. "What's she up to?"

"Why would she take her, Inspector?" Cornelia asked.

Jack looked at her worried face. He shook his head. "I don't know, but I think we can assume she has sinister intentions. If she has taken her, of course. We don't know that."

Cornelia nodded. Everyone was quiet for a few moments, rattled by the thought of what Millie could be going through.

Harry slapped Jack on the upper arm, jolting everyone out of their thoughts. "C'mon, let's go. We need to be quick. The road between here and the woolshed is the highest on the property, so it'll be crammed with animals. Might be best if I drive."

Jack nodded. "All right. You'll need to be armed."

Harry nodded back at him. "Rightio."

Cornelia sank into an armchair and put her head in her hands. Harry walked over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be fine, Grandma." He looked at Jack. "Back in a bit."

Phryne watched him leave and then turned to Jack, who was looking away from her. "I'm coming too."

He turned to her and frowned. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," she said quickly. "I promised Millie I'd keep her safe."

Jack clenched his jaw. "May I have a quick word, Miss Fisher?" He took her arm and walked her out of the office and through the back door to the inside verandah. The heavy rain hitting the metal roof was deafening, so he had to lean close. "No, you're not. I need you to stay here in case Florence comes back."

"Don't be stupid! You'll need back up. Besides, it's my case too."

"Oh, our case now, is it? Where was that reasoning when you were questioning Millie and wouldn't let me go with you?"

Phryne frowned. "That was different! Now's not the time to rehash old arguments."

"It's not different! And I'm not rehashing anything. I'm annoyed at you and your demands and am exposing your hypocrisy. I said I would wait for you outside as back up, but you decided to be pig-headed about it."

"Which is exactly what you're being now!"

Jack stood straight and placed his hands on his hips. "Frustrating, isn't it?"

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him. "I never thought of you as petty. You are doing this to punish me when you should be out there looking for Millie. Her life's at risk!"

He growled at her then turned and took a few steps away to calm down before walking back to her. "I'm not punishing you, Phryne," he said more calmly, "I'm thinking of your life too. I'll take my gun, two pairs of handcuffs, and Harry will also be armed. I need you to stay here in case Millie or Florence turns up. I'm trusting you to look after everyone. You're not coming." He walked away to get ready before she could reply.

Phryne took a deep breath. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She was a hypocrite. She refused to have him accompany her to the homestead in the middle of the night to prove a point. He was also right about needing her to stay here, although if Florence turned up, she'd need back-up herself. She'd felt the hate from Florence from the first time she met her.

She walked back into the hallway just as Harry was coming out of the office, shotgun in hand. She put her hand on his arm. "Be careful Harry, your grandmother needs you."

"I'll be fine," he said, glancing at Jack who'd just walked in the back door. "I'm in good hands."

Phryne swivelled to look at him. They gazed at each other for a while, his frown softening. He gave her a nod to let her know he'd be fine. She was suddenly anxious about him leaving, not because she felt left out, but because she wanted to be there to protect him. She felt a strong urge to kiss him goodbye, but all she could do was nod back. He turned and walked out the door with Harry close behind him.

She couldn't face her aunt and Cornelia so she walked into the sitting room and flopped on the lounge with a sigh. She looked around her. Most of the staff who slept in the homestead had gone back to their beds. The staff who remained were curled up on the chairs under blankets. The door opened and the butcher walked in. He was soaked and squelched his way to the table for a cup of something warm.

Phryne pursed her lips as she took in his enormous height and girth. After he'd poured himself a tea, she walked over and asked to speak to him privately, turning immediately so he'd follow her across the hallway into the dining room.

Once inside, she turned to him. There was no time for chit-chat. "Do you have a gun?" she asked quietly.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Yes, ma'am," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes at her. "Why?"

"There's a posse going out to look for—"

"Millie and the cook?"

It was Phryne's turn to raise eyebrows. "Yes! How'd you know that?"

"Pretty bloody obvious," he scoffed, as if she were stupid. "My missus had to fetch the tea because they were nowhere to be seen. Besides, I saw Millie leave earlier."

Phryne's eyes widened. "With the cook?"

"Nah, with the copper. I saw her get into his car."

Phryne went cold. "Which copper?"

"Wright." He scratched his chin. "Dunno what that was about."

Phryne closed her eyes and let out the breath she was holding. That bastard had her. "When was this?"

He shrugged. "Elevenish? Got up for a piss." He looked sheepish and raised a hand. "'Scuse the language ma'am."

Phryne waved away his apology. "Was she struggling to get away from him?"

The butcher shook his head and frowned. "No," he said slowly. "Looked a bit odd, but. He had her by the arm, like she was being arrested. He looked a bit shifty too, now that I think about it. You know, lookin' over his shoulder all the time."

Phryne put a hand to her mouth while she thought. The roads out were all flooded by then, so he must have taken her to the Bartlett's cottage or the woolshed. Phryne closed her eyes; she might already be dead. "Where was he taking her, did you see?"

"No."

"Was there anyone else in the car?"

He shrugged. "Dunno, it was dark, and I wasn't gonna draw attention to what I was doing. Do you think he's up to no good?"

Phryne chewed on her lip while she thought about how much to tell him. She decided to trust him, he'd called murder on the body after all. "Yes, I do." She leant in and whispered, "And I need your help."

He straightened and ran his hand through what was left of his hair. "Aw, Jesus! I shoulda done something."

"You weren't to know," she said gently. "But you can do something for me now."

He shook his head. "Never did like that bastard. How can I help?"

She hesitated. "I can't go into too many details, but I can tell you that there are people who know too much about the murder and are now in danger. I've been asked to stay back and stand guard, but," she said, looking him up and down, "I believe you are much better suited for the job. Will you do that for me?"

He stood a little straighter and puffed out his chest. "Yes ma'am," he said with a nod. "It's the least I can do. I'll just fetch me gun. You'll need to tell me who's dodgy, don't wanna be pointing me gun at everyone."

Phryne nodded then hesitated. "We can't be sure, but just to be on the safe side, Wright, Florence, Frederick Morecroft and the Bartletts."

He recoiled from her. "What the ...? The Bartletts and Mr Morecroft?" He blew out a breath and shook his head. "All right," he said with an emphatic nod. "I'll do it."

After thanking him and giving him instructions, she ran to find Cornelia to tell her what she'd learnt. She pulled up short when she saw she would have to navigate her aunt, who was still sitting with Cornelia in the office.

"What's the matter dear?" her aunt asked when she saw Phryne's face.

"Wright has Millie," she blurted. "The butcher saw him put her in his car."

Cornelia put her hand to her mouth and stood quickly. "When?"

"About eleven, apparently."

Cornelia nodded. "Then they're still on the property." She slumped back down in her seat and put her head in her hands. "Oh, dear."

Phryne looked at her aunt then back to Cornelia. There was no time to soften the blow. "I need to go after the Inspector and Harry."

Cornelia snapped her head up to look at her.

"I need to tell them Wright's involved."

Cornelia held her arm. "I can't allow you to do that, Phryne. I will send some of the men."

"I'm not asking your permission, Cornelia," she said, pulling her arm away. "Besides, you'll need those men here in case they come back. I've asked the butcher to fetch his gun and stay guard. I need to go." She turned quickly and ran out the door, ignoring her aunt's loud demands that she come back at once.

She ran through the breezeway and around the corner to her room. She wrapped a scarf around her neck, put on a dark coat and beret, grabbed her gun, then took a different way to her car in case her aunt was waiting for her outside the hallway entrance. She reversed quickly and drove down the driveway as fast as she could before swerving and skidding to a stop as a mob of spooked kangaroos flashed in front of her.

The rain stopped suddenly just as she drove onto the sheep grid at the entrance to the homestead. The strong wind had blown away the heavy clouds and the land was suddenly illuminated by moonlight. She sucked in a breath and slammed on the brakes. The road to the woolshed was thick with animals: sheep, kangaroos, emus, dingoes and other small creatures that scurried away from the light of her car. She shook her head in wonder; uneasy predators mingled with terrified prey on a sliver of raised ground. They were surrounded by water that glowed an eerie silver all the way to the horizon.

She inched the car forward. The roos hopped away but the sheep seemed to be frozen to the spot. She hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand in frustration. Sounding the horn would be madness so she wound down the window to yell at them to get out of her way, winding her window back up when the moonlight disappeared and rain started again. She drove like this for a frustratingly slow mile or so, the fast-moving clouds occasionally breaking apart to give her glimpses of the road ahead.

A quarter of a mile or so from the turn off to the woolshed, the sheep had thinned, allowing her to drive a little faster. The clouds parted again, just in time for her to see the glint of metal out of the corner of her eye. She slammed on the brakes and looked behind her, spotting the battered lamplight of Jack's car before it went dark and started to rain again. They must have stopped here and continued on foot. She turned off the road and parked under the trees, hoping her car would be safe under those enormous swaying limbs.

She put her gun in her pocket and got out, hunching against the horizontal rain. She pulled her beret down low on her head and raised the collar of her coat, thankful for the scarf that stopped the water from running down her neck. A dim light shone through the trees ahead and to the right. It had to be the woolshed. Behind that was the wool grader's cottage. If she followed the line of trees, she would come to the road that led down to the wharf.

The wind was ferocious and drowned out any other noise, which would work in her favour. She set off at a trot through the trees in the dark, splashing through shallow water in her knee-length boots. Every now and then she stumbled over fallen branches and shrubs in the darkness. Moonlight, when it appeared, illuminated the landscape, making it easier for her to work her way through the forest that was now littered with debris. After a few minutes, she stopped. The light from the woolshed was close. It was time to slow down and move deeper into the trees.

After a short walk through what felt like deepening water, the woolshed suddenly loomed before her. She stopped to crouch behind a huge tree to look for Jack or Harry and give herself time to think about what she should do. A noise behind her made her jump. She tried to turn but a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was roughly yanked back. She dug her elbow into her assailant's guts and stomped on a foot. She heard a soft _oof_ and tried to twist out of their grip.

"Phryne!"

"Jack?" she whispered in surprise once he removed his hand. "What—"

She felt his fingers over her mouth again, more gently this time. He held her tightly and brushed her ear with his lips.

"Shh. In the shadows," he whispered. "Second door from the right."

Phryne shuddered. She would have been spotted immediately if she'd run across the road to the verandah. "I see him," she whispered back. "Who is it?"

"Sergeant Peters."

She puffed out a breath. That bastard was grooming him.

"Why are you here?" he whispered. His mouth was close to her ear and he still held her tightly.

Phryne was surprised at his lack of anger. Perhaps he expected her. She turned her head so their lips were almost touching. "Wright has her."

She heard him grunt in surprise. "How do you know?"

The rain started again, allowing them to talk without fear of being heard, but they stayed close. Phryne shivered. Jack let go of her to open his jacket, wrapping it around her tightly so she was forced back against his body.

"The butcher saw Wright force her into his car around eleven," she said as she pressed against his warmth, "so they'd have to be here somewhere."

Jack grunted. "You trust him?"

"The butcher? Yes. He's holding fort with his gun."

"Good choice. Cornelia and your aunt need protection."

Phryne acknowledged his praise with a nod against his cheek. She should have pulled away from him to maintain some distance, but she didn't want to, and judging by the way he gripped her tightly, neither did he. Yes, they were in danger, cold and soaked to the skin, but she suspected the embrace was his way of letting her know he was sorry about their devastating argument in her cottage.

"Where's Harry?" she asked.

"Scouting. He knows his way around and insisted on doing it. He should have been back by now."

The rain eased up so they moved their faces closer and lowered their voices again.

"Who knows you're here?"

"Only Aunt P and Cornelia."

Jack grunted. "I bet your aunt was—"

He pulled away sharply and swivelled to look into the forest behind him, slowly pulling his gun from his pocket as he peered into the darkness. He stood there, tense and still, then put his arm out slowly to make sure she was safely behind him.

Phryne also had drawn her gun. They let out a breath and lowered their weapons when they saw Harry's arm wave at them from behind a tree. He weaved poked his head out to make sure they'd seen him before snaking his way through the trees towards them.

"What did you find?" Jack asked when he was close.

"She's not in any of the rooms I could get in to. The room right in front of us is the office," he said, pointing at a door opposite them, "and given Peters is standing guard, I think we can assume she's in there."

Jack nodded. "Where are the others?"

"Florence, the Bartletts and Frederick are in the cottage. The mayor's in there too. Couldn't see Wright though. They were all arguing. I didn't want to stay long in case Wright was on the lookout, but I heard Florence yell something about drowning."

Phryne sucked in a breath. "They're going to drown her! We need to get her out of there!" she whispered urgently.

Jack placed his fingers gently over her mouth and leant close. "Shh. We will. Don't worry." He turned to Harry. "I'll get the constable, you wait here with Miss Fisher. When I've—"

"No. I'll go." Harry said. "There's stuff lying everywhere. You'll make noise and give us all away. I know this place like the back of my hand. Let me; I'd like nothing more than to clobber the bastard."

Jack hesitated. He didn't feel good about it, but Harry had a point. "All right. Don't hit him too hard, just enough to knock him out. Once we see him drop we'll run over."

Harry nodded and disappeared quietly. The rain had started up again, heavy and deafening as it thundered onto the iron roof of the woolshed. They huddled together behind the tree. Phryne tightened her collar around her neck and shivered again. Jack moved closer and wrapped his coat around her, more tentatively this time, as if he expected her to reject him. She nestled against him, closing her eyes briefly as his arms slid over her body. She wanted his warmth, but also the comfort of having him close again.

He put his lips against her ear. "What a mess," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the man on the verandah.

"Us or this?" she asked, also focused on Peters.

"Both."

She nodded. "I know. Jack, I—"

They stiffened when Harry appeared at the end of the woolshed. He slowly looked around the corner, moving quietly onto the verandah when he saw Peters facing away from him. They watched Harry lift the butt of his shotgun. Phryne closed her eyes and braced herself for the sickening sound of wood on bone. She opened them just in time to see Harry catch Peters so he wouldn't hit his head on the rocky ground. They watched as he prodded him with his foot. He was out cold. Harry straightened and beckoned them over.

They ran as quietly as possible across the road and into the darkness of the verandah. Jack took the sergeant's gun before he and Harry dragged him into the shadows. Harry put his ear to the door and listened. He nodded to them. He could hear someone in there.

"Open it," Jack whispered.

Harry opened the door and they stepped into the darkness.

"Help us!"

They froze. They all knew that voice. Jack pushed the door open to let in light from the verandah and saw a man tied up like a wild boar. His ankles and wrists were bound and then tied together behind his back so he lay on the floor in the shape of a crescent moon. His face was covered in blood.

Jack stepped towards him. "What the hell?"

"Florence … she's gone mad!" Wright whispered before anyone had a chance to say anything. "She did this. Millie's here too. Untie me! Quickly!"

Millie whimpered in the corner. Her hands and feet were also bound, but unlike Wright she sat upright.

Phryne ran to her, embracing her briefly before working on the rope around her wrists. "Are you hurt?" Millie let out a sob. "Don't worry, you're safe now. We'll get you out of here."

Harry partly closed the door and stood guard while Phryne and Jack worked on the ropes. The dim light from the window was enough for them to see what they were doing.

"Why are you bound?" Jack said. "We know you abducted Millie."

"I didn't abduct her!" Wright spat at him. He was scared and angry. "I was trying to protect her! Florence wanted to drown her. I went and got her, but was hit on the head as I was trying to hide her. Tell them Millie! Tell them!"

Millie let out a sob when he mentioned drowning. She looked at Wright and then back to Phryne and nodded. "It's true, miss."

"I don't believe you were trying to protect her," Jack said as he worked on the rope linking his hands and feet. He was confused by the complexity of the knots; Wright had been well and truly trussed. "You need to start talking!"

"Florence killed Walsh. I had nothing to do with that!"

Jack jerked on his ropes. "Don't lie to me!" he hissed.

"It's true! I didn't tell her to kill him, the stupid bitch went and did it. Thought she was doing me a favour."

Jack stopped working on the knots. "Why?"

Wright didn't answer.

He put his face close and growled at him. "Answer my damn question or I'm leaving you here."

Wright jerked his body to hit Jack's face away with his shoulder. "Untie me! Then I'll tell you everything."

"Not until I trust you."

Wright growled in frustration. "I'm on your side! You have to believe me. I protected you. She saw me and _her_ at the party," he spat, jerking his head towards Phryne. "Followed you both down the road with a knife. She wanted to hurt her. She's crazy! I stopped her hurting you both. You have to believe me!'"

"Well I don't," Jack growled in his ear.

"Are you out of your damn mind? Untie me! If she comes back she'll kill us. Especially her," he said looking at Phryne again. "Oh, she hates you all right. This is all you fault, you—"

"Shut it!" Jack hissed at him. He leant in close. "Talk like that again and I'm walking."

Phryne had ignored Wright's manic rantings to focus on freeing Millie. She helped her stand after quickly untying her.

"Take her back to the homestead," Jack barked.

"I'm not leaving you. Harry, you take her."

"For Christ's sake! I give the orders here. Do as I say for once!"

"Jesus!" Harry said, walking over to hold Millie's arm. "I'll take her. I want to be there in case Florence comes looking for her. I'll send more men."

Jack had no time to argue. He put his hand in his pocket. "Here," he growled, handing him the key to his car. "Go!"

Harry secured the key in a pocket, picked up the shotgun and grabbed Millie's hand. Jack and Phryne watched him pull her across the room, pause at the door while he looked outside, then run across the verandah and into the storm. They held their breath as they listened for gun shots or yelling. They heard nothing but heavy rain on the roof.

Jack exhaled and returned to work on Wright's knots. Phryne bent down to work on his hands.

"Leave it," he barked at her. "I can manage. Go stand guard."

Phryne hesitated. They needed to untie him and get out of there, but she had to make sure they were safe. She ran to the door and peered out.

Jack managed to get the rope linking his hands untied and pulled it free. Wright groaned in relief and stretched out his legs but Jack yanked on his arms until he cried out in pain. "I asked you why killing Walsh was doing you a favour. Answer me!" He leant in and hissed in his ear. "Did she know about your filthy little trade selling stolen girls to men?" When Wright didn't answer he yanked his arms again. "Answer my damn question!"

"Yes!" Wright said through gritted teeth. "Happy now! She was blackmailing me into marrying her. She's not right in the head. And then she," he said, jerking his head towards Phryne, "turned up and poked her fucking nose where it didn't belong. I was dealing with it until the mad bitch flipped because of what you told her." He bucked and twisted to face Jack. "You fucking idiots!" he spat. "This is all your fault!"

Jack punched him in the face so hard his head bounced off the floor. He groaned and went limp as Jack grabbed him by the lapels to pull him close to his face. "Don't you dare!" he hissed. He threw him back down and shook him so hard his head hit the floor. "Don't you try and pin this on me. If you'd come clean, none of this would have happened."

Wright called out for him to stop, but he continued to bang his head on the floor.

Jack got right up in his face. "This is on YOU, you fucking bastard!"

Phryne ran to them. "Stop it!" she said, pulling him off Wright. She was shocked at Jack's aggression. "We need to get these ropes off, and quickly! We can't carry him out."

"Listen to her!" Wright said. "She'll be back for me. They all will."

"They? Who's they?" Jack asked.

"Untie me and I'll talk. I'm not saying anything else until you do."

Jack put his arm across Wright's neck and leant in close again, ignoring his choking noises. "Tell us everything, and quickly or I'll leave you here to die."

Phryne pulled him off Wright again. "Stop it, Jack!"

Jack stood. "Let's go." He grabbed Phryne's arm and pulled her roughly across the room, ignoring Wright's pleas for him to come back. "He can die, for all I care." Phryne tried to resist him but he pulled her onto the verandah, where Peters still lay unconscious.

She jerked her arm from his hand. He leant in but she slapped him hard across the face before he could speak. He took a step back from her, put his hand to his cheek and stared at her in shock. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed at him. Before he could answer, Wright called out.

"I'll talk!"

He was loud, too loud now the rain had stopped again. Jack ran back in. "Keep it down!" He leant down to work on the rope that was still tightly wound around his ankles, still reeling from Phryne's slap. Phryne stood by door again, one eye on the verandah and the other on Jack. She had never seen him so out of control.

"Hurry! She'll be back soon with the others."

"Who?"

"The Bartletts, the mayor, Frederick. Peters now too. They're all in on it and they think you're on to them."

"Why?"

"The reckon Millie told you, or Harry, or both. Some of them think Fred's a snitch. They're shitting themselves and fighting among each other now which makes them more desperate and dangerous. If they know you're here they'll want to dump you in the river too. That's what they were going to do with us."

Jack finally got the knot untied and uncoiled the rope from his feet. He helped him stand up but left his hands tied behind his back. He called Phryne over to search his pockets for a weapon before while he worked on the knot at his wrists.

She ran her hands through his pockets. There was something she need to ask him. "Why did you allow Millie to come here from the home?"

Wright jerked his body in frustration. "Jesus!" He put his head back and growled. "I'm not armed. Florence took my gun. We need to get out of here."

"Answer the goddam question," Jack said.

"To protect her."

"Why?" Jack asked.

He growled in frustration. "Because she's my daughter! I'm not the monster you think I am."

Jack pushed him against the wall and punched him in his guts. Wright exhaled sharply and doubled over. "Yes, you are!" he yelled at him as Wright coughed and spluttered. "You're a despicable human being." He leant down and whispered something in Wright's ear.

Phryne didn't have time to be shocked by Wright's admission. She shoved Jack away from him. "Stop it!" she hissed. "He's unarmed. We have to go. We can untie him later."

She turned and took a few steps towards the door but was suddenly blinded by a bright light.

"Don't move, bitch!"

Phryne blinked and took her hands away from her eyes. Florence stood in the doorway, her shaky hands gripped Wright's service pistol, which was pointed straight at her. Drops of rain ran down her nose and onto the floor. She stared at Phryne, her eyes wide and unblinking, panting like a frightened animal. She jerked her head to look at Jack and Wright, who were still up against the wall behind, and then back to Phryne.

Jack slowly reached for his gun.

Don't even think about it, copper," she said through gritted teeth. She pointed the gun at Phryne's head. "Or you can say goodbye to your bitch."

"Florence," Phryne said gently. "You don't have to—"

"SHUT UP!" She took a step towards her so her gun was pointed right between her eyes. "You come here in your fancy car and clothes, poking your stuck-up nose in our business and telling everyone what they can't do. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for you, so shut it! You don't tell me what to do."

"Listen to her, Phryne!" Jack called from behind her. "Please!"

Phryne stood where she was and lowered her eyes. She nodded. No point in riling her by trying to stare her down.

Florence looked at Wright. "And you!" she said, her hands shaking more than before. "You piece of scum, flirtin' and carrying on with this slut right under my nose, knowing the whole time she was out to get me."

"It's not what you think, Flo!" Wright said from the back. His voice was high pitched and whiny. "I was trying to find out what she knew."

Florence took a step towards Wright. "BULLSHIT!"

Phryne lunged at her, knocking her arm in the hope of dislodging the gun. The deafening sound of gunshot filled the small room. They twisted away from the blast and covered their ears. Phryne looked up to see the gun slide across the floor and off the verandah. They straightened and looked at each other in surprise. Phryne leapt at her with her arms outstretched but was hit hard from behind, the force propelling her onto Florence and smashing their heads together. They clung to each other as they stumbled backwards until Florence's head hit one of the poles supporting the roof of the verandah. Phryne twisted them as they fell so she wouldn't take the brunt of the fall.

They hit the ground with a thud, their breaths knocked from their bodies. Phryne lay on top of her, dazed and hurting. The heavy rain jolted her out of the shock of what had just happened and she remembered to breathe. She heard Jack racing towards her, but the footsteps didn't stop. She looked up to see Wright run past her as fast as he could into the darkness, his hands still tied behind his back. She rolled off Florence and onto her feet, preparing for a fight but Florence had gone limp.

She scrambled to find the gun then looked over at Peters, who was starting to stir. She twisted and looked back into the room for Jack, sucking in a breath as her eyes followed a thick smear of blood down the wall.

"JACK!"

All other thoughts vanished as she ran inside, her heartbeat pounding a _no! no! no!_ in her ears. He was slumped against the wall, twisted and motionless, one leg stretched out in front, the other buckled underneath him. His left hand was splayed over his right shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down the back of his hand.

He turned slowly to look at her. His eyes were wide with pain and fear.

She made it to him just as Peters came to and sat up.


	19. Chapter 19

_I really enjoyed reading the reviews on the last chapter._ _ _Thank you!_ I was pleased that many were surprised by the direction the story has taken. _

_I'd also like to say a special thank you to the 'guest' reviewers, especially SJM and Bijoux53. I've really enjoyed your insightful comments and greatly appreciate your continued support.  
_

 _ _Lastly, a reminder for those who have been affected by floods, or are uncomfortable with water or flood scenes: this chapter contains scenes involving a storm and rising flood waters.__

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Phryne skidded to him on her knees then quickly unravelled the scarf from her neck. The room was dark after the brightness of the verandah, but the open door let in enough light to see that Jack was in a bad way. There was no time to talk, she had to stop the bleeding. The storm still raged loudly, but not enough to drown out his rapid and shallow breathing. Or was that her? She tried to pull his left hand away to get to the wound, but he resisted. She pulled harder, talking in a low voice to soothe him. He dropped his arm, leant his head against the wall and closed his eyes. She pushed back his coat, gritting her teeth as he cried out in pain, then reached under his jumper and yanked the collar of his shirt apart, not caring that a few buttons popped off. _I'm sorry Jack_ , she whispered, over and over again, as she wiped away the blood.

He was bleeding heavily, but not enough for her to think the bullet hit a major blood vessel. She blew out a breath in relief but the smear of blood on the wall was a devastating reminder that the bullet passed straight through, making it near impossible to stop the flow from both sides of his shoulder.

"This is going to hurt, Jack," she said as she tugged at his coat.

He nodded at her, mouth open, eyes closed, his head back against the wall. She glanced behind her as she worked to get his coat off, half expecting Peters or Florence to come charging in. Once the coat was off, she tossed it aside. It hit the floor with a dull thud. She put her hand in the pocket and pulled out Jack's gun, which she placed on the floor beside her, just in case. His jumper and shirt came off in one go. Phryne tried to ignore his strangled cries as she ripped his cotton singlet from his body, then again in two, folding each half as a compress. She felt sick to her stomach as she pressed the wads of cloth to his shoulder, trying not to feel his pain as he bucked and squirmed. _Stay strong, stay strong_ , she whispered, but her words weren't meant for him; tending to bloody and gaping wounds was much easier to do when the person bleeding out under her care wasn't someone she loved.

She glanced from his shoulder to his face. He was looking at her through eyelids that were half closed from pain and shock. Even though he was darkened by her shadow, she could see fear in his eyes. Not of dying; he was afraid for her, for them. He'd slow them down now, lessen the chances of them getting out alive.

He gritted his teeth and twitched but made little noise as she wrapped her scarf over his shoulder and under his arm to hold the cloth pieces in place. That was a good sign: he was lucid enough to know he still needed to be as quiet as possible. She pulled the scarf tight to knot it. Jack arched his back, his primal bellow swallowed by a loud bang. The noise and sudden darkness panicked her. She let go of the scarf and grabbed the gun on the floor, turning quickly, panting in fear and widening her eyes as she looked for movement in the darkness.

No-one, there was no-one. She breathed in deeply to calm herself and let her eyes adjust to the gloom. The wind, she thought, still breathing hard. It must have been the wind blowing the door shut. When she was sure they were alone, she turned to check on her makeshift bandage, peering at the position of the wads of cotton in the low light cast from the crack in the curtains on the window. Satisfied everything was being held in place, she quickly dressed him.

Even though they needed to get going, she took the time to cup his jaw with her bloody hand so she could press a quick kiss to his cheek. She wanted to tell him how stupid, bloody stupid she was to try and play the hero, but she had acted instinctively. She was trying to protect him too. No time for talking, that would have to come later. Another reason they had to get out alive.

She pulled his left hand up to his shoulder. "Press it, Jack," she said with as much authority as she could muster. "The bullet's gone straight through and missed major veins and arteries, but you're still bleeding heavily. I know it hurts, but you need to press on it. Can you stand? We need to go."

He nodded. "Florence?" he said, his voice weak and raspy.

"Unconscious. Dead maybe. I don't know. Peters was stirring though." She tugged on his good arm. "Stand up." He stood but remained slumped against the wall.

She picked up his gun from the floor and slipped her arm around his waist. "Lean on me. We need to get back to the car before the others come looking for Florence."

He was sluggish and dopey, heavy to shift, but she managed to pull him across the room. Her eyes never left the light on the floor from the slit in the curtains as she waited for a shadow to appear. She pocketed Jack's gun, sighing in relief when her fingers felt the cold steel of Wright's pistol. She forgot she had that.

"Where's Peters' gun?" she whispered urgently as she leant him up against the wall by the door.

"Pocket."

Good. Florence and Peters were both without weapons.

She moved closer to crack open the door and peek out, gun in hand, comforted by the familiar smoothness of the pearl handle. Rain pelted down in a deafening beat as huge drops slammed against empty drums, wood and the thin metal of the verandah roof. The bare light bulb was tossed around by the squally wind, casting forever shifting shadows from the boxes and piles of rubbish blown up against the woolshed, making it harder for her to detect any movement from a hiding assailant. She squinted at the light. Although the verandah was only a few metres wide, it was a very bright barrier to the protection of the darkness beyond.

The door creaked softy as she cautiously opened it just enough to stick her head out. She widened her eyes: Peters and Florence were nowhere to be seen. She opened the door wider so she could get a better look at their surroundings, not that she could see much past the verandah. She blew out a breath, she had a decision to make. Take the road or run straight ahead into the trees? She looked up the road as she considered the easier option, given Jack's condition. She frowned and peered into the darkness. Small lights bobbed around furiously in the distance. Torch light, she was sure of it. She squinted, trying to look through the light and the sheets of rain to count them. One, two. Or was it three? Three lights. Was this the help Harry sent? What if it wasn't? She didn't know what to do, but they had to do something. She took a deep breath and pulled Jack onto the verandah. She was making a run for the darkness.

The first thing they felt was the pounding rain. It swirled around them, driven by winds so strong they staggered a few steps sideways as they moved across the verandah. They had to get away from the light. The rain stopped suddenly just as they stepped off the edge and into a deep puddle. Sudden moonlight, a blessing and a curse, revealed groaning trees bent almost double as they endured the wrath of the wind. Phryne and Jack stopped; neither wanted to enter that battlefield.

"Widow makers," Jack shouted as loudly as he could. He stood his ground, shaking his head. She leant in to ask what he meant when a deafening crack forced them to stagger backwards. They looked up in time to see half a tree crash down in front of them, shattering smaller trees as it smashed to the ground. They stood there, huddled together, wide eyed with awe and terror. She looked up the road, their only option now. Three torches and four people just beyond the end of the massive woolshed ran towards them.

Suddenly the wind was gone too, its menacing howls replaced by distant voices. An angry shriek filled the quiet just before the wind and rain started up again.

Phryne went cold. Florence.

She was just about to move away when she saw the light from the torches change direction. One moved to her left to walk into the trees, another disappeared behind the woolshed. They were surrounding them, making sure they would get them, whichever route they took.

The rain and wind started up again. Phryne started to pant. Think!

She moved Jack as quickly as she could away from the torches onto the verandah again and into the massive room where the shearing took place. Once inside, she let go of him and swivelled, gun raised. One shot and they were surrounded by darkness, the shattering light bulb drowned out by the deafening squall.

Phryne sighed in relief before panic and fear set back in. She had a few seconds to make a decision. They couldn't outrun them. If they hid in the room they were in, she could possibly shoot as they entered, but she might only hit one of them before others discovered their hiding place. She shook her head and tried not to cry. There was only one other option, and it was a bad one.

Phryne put her arm around him and pulled him back out the door, turning away from the people who were running towards them. Jack went willingly, he had no choice. His life was now in her hands.

They rounded the corner. Jack stopped suddenly, forcing her to lurch forward without him. "Stop!"

She couldn't hear him over the rain so she put her face close. "Keep moving, Jack!"

He wouldn't budge. "Where are we going?"

Phryne put her mouth to his ear. "They would have seen us run into the shearing shed so they'll look for us there. It's full of places to hide. As are the other rooms in the woolshed. There's only one way out for us now."

He was twisted and bent so he had to look up at her. "How?"

"The barge."

Jack straightened a little then grimaced in pain. "What!"

"The wool barge might still be there. I saw it before, when—"

He jerked her arm. "Are you out of your mind?"

She leant in close. "Jack! They've split up and have us surrounded! One of them went into the trees, one on the other side of the woolshed and the other two are god knows where, hopefully searching all the rooms in the woolshed. They'll be armed, I'm sure of it. The river is the only way out. If the wool barge is still there, we might have a chance." She put her arm around his waist again. "We have to keep moving forward. If we turn around now we'll be shot."

Jack cupped her neck and pulled her close. He was too weak to keep shouting over the storm. "That's madness!"

Phryne growled in frustration. "No, madness is not doing anything and waiting to be shot! We have no choice, Jack. They won't think to follow us there. The wharf is high above the water. I saw it. The barge was there a few days ago. We have to try. Yes, it's dangerous but the barge is small and sturdy. We'll drift out of the current when we get to the big bend in the river downstream. It's the only chance we have!"

The rain and wind suddenly eased up only to be replaced by the roar of the river in front of them. They heard a muffled yell behind them and crouched down, clutching at each other. They were close.

Phryne pulled him to keep moving, thankful he didn't try and stop her this time. They stumbled thirty yards or so down the steep gravel road to the river, pulling up short when they splashed into ankle-deep water with no wharf in sight. Phryne frowned and shook her head in disbelief. When she was here a few days ago, she stood on the end of the wharf and looked at the stagnant, green river, a good twenty or so feet below.

"Now what?" Jack said. He was doubled over and panting in pain and exhaustion.

Phryne stared straight ahead, frozen with indecision and fear. The barge was their only hope. "Wait here." She let go of him and waded into the calm water, straining her eyes in the darkness, feeling the flow strengthen the further she went. The sky brightened enough for her to see the barge bobbing furiously, despite being tied tightly to pilings, which lined the edges of the wharf, their tops about a foot out of the water. She had leant against one to look down the river the last time she was there, making them roughly three feet tall. She wailed in fear and frustration. They would never be able to wade to the end of the wharf in fast flowing water that was over her knees.

She was desperate now and took a few more steps into the water to look for the rowboats. Pale ropes tied to several of the pilings on the right-hand side of the wharf disappeared into the water at angle that told her the boats probably now lay on the river bed. _No!_ she sobbed. There was no way out.

She turned to wade back to him but stopped when she saw another rope at an angle unlike the others. She followed it with her eyes and sucked in a breath. A small, pale rowboat covered by a tarpaulin sat low in the water, bobbing precariously and straining against the strong flow. It was their last chance of survival. She almost ran back to Jack, suddenly filled with hope.

She slipped her arm around him to get him moving again. "I can see a boat, Jack," she yelled. "It's a small boat, we'll never make it to the barge, but we can get to this one." She felt him resist her. "Come on, we have to go now." She tugged on his hand but he wouldn't budge. She watched him shake his head slowly and gripped his lapels to hold him close and give him a bit of a shake, even though she knew it would hurt him.

"It's our only chance out! We have to try. The wharf is a couple of feet under, but the boat is close." She gave him another shake, more gently this time. "The water is rising fast. We need to go now!"

She let him go and he hunched almost double, his hand still pressing against his shoulder. He shook his head. "We'll never survive in a boat." He pointed to his right, "We'll have to risk the trees and follow the river back. It's dark and noisy, they won't see or hear us."

Two gunshots in quick succession startled them and they crouched down, clutching at each other and stumbling a few steps into the flowing water.

"We have to," she whispered urgently, their faces close. She looked for torchlight. "I don't think they've seen us yet. They're probably trying to scare us out, make us run, but it won't be long until they check down here. We can do this, Jack. The water's not flowing as fast on the edge and any snags in the river are about twenty feet below. Anything that floats will be washed downstream with us."

Phryne tugged on his hand, letting out a breath in relief when he didn't resist. Once they reached the wharf, she put her arm around his waist to keep him close so he wouldn't stumble in the deeper water and be swept away. The current was strong against her legs and she struggled to keep them both upright. He was right of course, it was madness.

They were halfway to the piling with the small boat attached when another gunshot, closer now, forced them to crouch and move faster. Had they spotted them and were shooting at them, or were they shooting in their general direction to corral them onto the wharf in the hope they'd be swept to their deaths? If the former, she was thankful they were a lousy shot. If the latter, as much as she hated to admit it, they may get their wish.

Phryne could hear Jack's laboured breathing. He was struggling now. She wrapped her arm around him and leant in close. "We're almost there."

They were close to the piling where the boat was hitched when they hear the loud crack of gun fire. They crouched down too quickly, leant too close to the water. Phryne stumbled and lost her balance, clutching at Jack and feeling her hand slip from his as she was swept away. Her cry of fear turned to pain as she was smashed into the piling. She managed to wrap one arm around it as the water swept her off the wharf, quickly grabbing hold with her other hand. Splinters dug into her palms. She gritted her teeth and growled in determination as she tried to pulled herself towards the wharf, using all the strength she had to fight the river that was determined to claim her.

Jack waded through the water as fast as he could and straddled the wooden pole so he wouldn't be washed away too. He grabbed her just above the elbow with his left hand and pulled her in, throwing his head back and howling in pain as his shoulder was pressed against the hardness of the wood. Once she was close enough to wrap her arm around the pole, he grabbed her coat and pulled her back onto the wharf.

Phryne wedged herself safely between him and the piling. She spluttered and retched, fighting panic as she carefully twisted her body so she could wrap one arm around him, pulling him close until his raspy breath was loud in her ear. They clung to each other as the rain and filthy water splashed their faces and pushed against them. She knew he didn't have much left in him, but he was alive and she would do whatever it took to get them into that boat. She was still coughing up water but they needed to keep going. "I need you to help pull the boat in. Can you try?"

He nodded. She kissed him quickly on the lips and let go of him so she could turn around, careful not to lose her balance against the fast-flowing water. The weight of Jack and the water on her back made it hard for her to breathe. They were running out of time; the water was just under her chin. She wrapped her legs around the pole, took a breath and put her head under water to as she slid her hand down the rope. She surfaced, almost crying out in relief; the rope was knotted which meant the boat would be easier to pull in. She yelled out instructions. Jack leant sideways to extend his reach beyond her hand, putting him at a perilous angle.

Phryne felt Jack squeeze her with his thighs to steady himself. He grunted in pain as the weight of the boat and the water pinned him against her. They worked together, gritting their teeth and groaning as they slowly dragged in the boat until there was enough slack on the rope for Phryne to loop it around the piling, then they started again. They got into a rhythm and worked quickly until it was almost within reach. When it was close, Jack grabbed the bow handle while Phryne secured the last bit of rope.

She could see the tarpaulin tied to the bow handle, rowlocks and the back corners of the boat. "I'll untie the tarp and then you get in,'" she shouted at Jack. "I'll get in after you and untie the boat." She went to work on the knot on the bow handle, surprised and relived when it loosened easily. The top of the tarpaulin was blown backwards and fluttered in the strong wind.

She turned to him. "Get in!"

Jack didn't move. He tried to say something but was struggling to talk. Phryne went cold, colder than she already was sitting chin deep in water. Why wouldn't he get in the boat? She twisted to look at him.

"Jack! Go!" He shook his head. He let go of the piling to hold her face against his so their foreheads were touching. He was trying to talk but was breathing too hard.

"Jack!" she yelled. "You're wasting time!"

He shook his head against hers, slowly, resignedly. When he did speak, he was croaky and breathless. "Phryne … I don't think ..."

"No Jack!" She stifled a sob, twisting towards him so she could put her fingers on his lips. "No!" She wasn't going to let him say the words, even if she had thought them herself. She could feel his pain, his terror, his weak breaths against her fingers, but she wasn't going to give in to the river, to be washed away like everything else in its path. "We'll get through this, Jack! We—"

He jerked his mouth away from her fingers. "Stop! I'm too tired. Too weak. If we capsize, I'll …"

"Please, Jack … you can't think that!" Her breathing was fast and shallow. "I won't let you!"

He drew back to look at her. She was frowning, shaking her head, her mouth clamped tightly shut. "I just want you to know …," he said, still breathing heavily, "that I love you. I love you, Phryne. I need you to know that."

Phryne let out a sob and nodded. She brushed his hair from his eyes and wiped the rain and tears from his face, kissing him hard and urgently, hoping he would feel that she loved him too, perhaps more than he would ever know. She drew back but kept her forehead pressed against his. They were shivering from cold and fear but she needed to stay strong for both of them. She was the reason for this mess and was determined to get them out of it.

"We will survive, Jack. We have to believe that. We have to try." She waited until she felt him nod. She kissed him once more.

"Go!"

Phryne steadied him as much as she could as he tumbled into the boat. He sat in water that came over his thighs, his back up against the middle bench seat, the tarpaulin taut behind his neck. She followed him in and turned to work on the knot, reading it with her fingers to get a feel for how to untie it. She almost whooped in relief when she felt it was a slip knot. It should have been easily untied, but the force of the water had tightened it. She grunted, pulling as hard as she could on the end.

She heard a man's frantic shouting and was blinded by lights in her eyes. They'd found them.

A gun fired. She heard the angry buzz of the bullet that just missed her head and ricocheted off what sounded like one of the metal rowlocks. She crouched down to steady herself and looked behind her to see Jack slumped against the seat. She couldn't see his face, couldn't hear him breathing. She heard another shot. It sounded different, further away, muffled somehow. She pulled on the rope with everything she had left. It shifted. One last tug and the knot unfurled, burning her flesh as it slipped from her hands.

The rowboat took off at speed, propelling her forwards and slamming her body into the bow. Two loud cracks filled her ears: gunshot and the sound of her head hitting wood. She took a few moments for the pain and dizziness to subside before crawling to Jack. They hurtled down the river, but the boat was steady as they were swept along the relatively calm edge, just as she hoped.

Jack was struggling to take off his coat. "Help me."

Phryne got to work. Heavy coats and shoes had to go so they wouldn't be weighed down if they went into the water. She started with Jack and tugged on his coat. He cried out loudly in pain as they were tossed around by the choppy water. When it was off, she prised off his shoes then removed her boots and coat, tucking her gun into the waist of her pants.

They sat waist deep in water that was still rising from the rain and the waves that splashed over the sides of the boat. Phryne sat between his legs, her back pressed against his left shoulder to keep him steady and warm. Her hands gripped the sides of the small rowboat. Jack pushed his feet against the seat in front. Phryne guessed they had been in the boat for less than a minute. The longer they stayed upright as they hurtled down the river in that tiny wooden vessel, the more confident she felt that they would make it out alive.

They cried out loudly in fear and pain as they were suddenly flung from side to side as the boat hit an eddy and was pushed into the rapids. Phryne felt Jack shaking with cold, pain and exhaustion. He wrapped his arm around her waist and put his face against her neck. She closed her eyes and cried as she tried not to believe they would die. She silently mouthed the words she'd been unable to say to him because it didn't feel right at the time. Not because she didn't love him, but because it felt too final, too much like goodbye. But now, as they huddled in a flimsy boat that was tossed around on an angry river, she feared she may never get the chance to tell him how much she loved him.

She turned her head to him.

"Jack, I—"

The sickening crack of splintering wood drowned out her words. She was thrown backwards with incredible force, twisting in the air before landing face first in the cold, inky river. The deafening sounds of the wind, rain and water deadened immediately and were replaced by her pounding heartbeat and panicked grunts. Even though she knew she had to conserve oxygen, she flailed her arms wildly, not knowing if she was sinking or rising to the surface as she tumbled in the current. She hit a calm patch and held her hands up in front of her face to stop the twigs and branches from whipping her and felt something soft hit her legs from behind. She twisted and felt cloth brush against her fingers. Jack! She made a desperate attempt to grab him but she couldn't hold on and he was pulled out of her grasp. She tried to ignore her burning lungs and moved her arms in the darkness to feel for him but the only thing she felt were the jagged remains of their boat.

She started to panic. She was going to drown.

The burn in her lungs was too much to bear and she struggled to stop the impulse to take a breath. Just as she couldn't hold on any longer, her head broke the surface. Her mouth filled with muddy water as she desperately sucked in some air. She retched and spluttered as the river roiled around her, twisting away from the current so she could breathe and gather what strength she had left.

"JACK! JAAAAACK!"

All she could hear was thunderous water. When her head wasn't dragged under, she coughed and wailed and feebly called out his name. She strained her eyes in the dark for any sight of him, for anything that could be him as she was dragged along by the strong current, but it was too dark, too turbulent and too late.

He was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

O'Sullivan sat on the edge of the boat and wiped the mud from his feet with his handkerchief. Socks and polished shoes went back on, his trousers were rolled back down. He stood straight and smoothed down his jacket, plucked a burr from the cuff of his sleeve then flicked fluff and cat hair off his jacket and epaulettes. _You're fussing_ , his wife would have said, but he thought looking smart was important when delivering bad news. Especially the death of a loved one.

He pulled the boat further up the slope that led to the homestead then sat back down on the edge to wipe the sweat from his brow with the last clean corner of his handkerchief. The humidity after floods was unbearable, but he'd take it over a storm like they had last night any day. He put his cap on to protect his bald spot from the searing sun and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly to calm his heart. The row across from Swan Hill had been a strain on his ticker, one of many reminders he wasn't a young man anymore, but he was alive, thank Christ, unlike the poor soggy bastards crowding the morgue back at Swan Hill. Times like this he should be on his side of the river, breaking the bad news to the mothers and wives and sweethearts that were stuck in their homes, waiting for that knock on the door. But he had to leave it to his men to do that. At least he had good men, unlike the copshop in Balranald, from what Robinson had told him. He bowed his head and gave it a bit of a shake, the click of his tongue loud in the eerie silence. Poor bloody bugger.

He jiggled his fingers as he thought about what to say. Dealing with blood, gore and death didn't bother him so much, but telling loved ones about it? That was just about as bad as it got for him. Worse when he didn't really know them. He heard his wife's voice again: _You big softie._ He'd been criticised for being too soft quite a bit lately, especially with how he dealt with the blackfellas. _Well, stuff 'em_ , he thought, that was just who he was. Besides, compassion was in short supply in these parts nowadays.

He pulled out a pack of smokes for a quick ciggie. He put one in his mouth and struck the match. The flame flared then recoiled from the humidity, forcing him to suck hard on his cigarette until it was lit. He tossed the match at his feet so he could hear the sizzle as it hit the soaked ground. No chance of starting a fire now. He tried a few smoke rings as a distraction but he was taken back to the last time he broke the news to a loved one. Christ, it was only a few days ago. Seemed much longer than that. He was impressed with how Robinson had handled the widow that day: patient and sincere with just the right balance of command and compassion. City coppers were usually a bit up themselves, he reckoned, treated him like a dumb country cop, but he'd liked Robinson immediately. O'Sullivan tipped his head back and groaned. What was the stupid bugger doing in floodwaters in the first place?

He took one last drag, tossed his half-smoked cigarette into the swollen lake, then watched the receding floodwaters drag it away from that place, down the Murray and eventually out to sea. He huffed out a wry laugh; that cigarette would be more travelled than he was. He turned and looked at what was left of the path. _Just get on with it_ , he muttered to himself.

He puffed all the way up the slope, over the grass and onto the verandah, stopping short when he saw a huddle of women sitting just inside the glass doors. Robinson had filled him in on the players so he could guess who they were. A tall, lean woman with grey hair piled messily on top of her head sat on the arm of a chair. She stood when she saw him. Mrs Morecroft, he reckoned. A squat woman with short, wavy hair sat on the lounge with what looked like a bundle of blankets held tightly against her bosom. She was rocking from side to side but stopped when she saw him. Mrs Stanley, the formidable one. The bundle of blankets shifted. A pale, swollen face surrounded by a tangle of black hair peered back at him. Her puffy eyes widened when they took in his uniform. He looked at her through the glass as she wailed. Miss Phryne Fisher, presumably, looking very unlike the titled lady Robinson had talked about with a barely discernable twinkle in his eye. He noticed it though. Not bad for a dumb country cop.

Mrs Morecroft opened the door, her brow creased with worry. She looked pale and exhausted. They all did.

He swallowed, took off his hat and stepped inside.

"Detective Inspector Martin O'Sullivan from Swan Hill station, ma'am." He extended his hand to her and tried not to raise his eyebrows at her blokey grip. Not bad for a wisp of a woman. "Mrs Morecroft?" When she nodded, he tilted his head towards her guests. "May I have a private—"

"Is he dead? Tell me!"

He turned his head and blinked at the wailing bundle. Mrs Stanley rocked and gently shushed her but she continued to cry loudly into a handkerchief.

"These are my close friends, Inspector," Mrs Morecroft said to him. He was surprised by her posh city accent after all these years in the country. She extended an arm in the direction of a chair. "Won't you sit down?"

"I'll stand, if you don't mind." He swallowed. "It's about your son, Frederick."

-o0o-

Phryne's aunt gasped then stood quickly to go to her good friend, leaving her to sway on the lounge without her aunt's solid support. She hadn't stopped wailing since her head emerged above the water to suck in her first lungful of air, but she fell silent and tried to stay upright. Hope took the edge off despair, but she knew not to feel too hopeful that O'Sullivan was only there to tell them about Frederick. Of course, he would tell Cornelia about her son first before moving on to Jack. She sat there with a hammering heart, desperately wanting to butt in and ask him but remained silent out of respect for her host, who had sat down with a straight back and looked him in the eye as he told her of the death of her son. Phryne watched her take the news stoically as details emerged. _Shot in the chest … would have died quickly … his body found on the other side of the river … autopsy, of course_. There was no mention of what a good man he was, or how he would be missed by his loved ones or community, not that she would have expected that from an out-of-town policeman. Knowing Frederick's past, she wouldn't have expected it from anyone.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs Morecroft," he said when he had finished. "Detective White from Deniliquin will be over to see you when the water subsides. He'll be taking it from here. Just thought you should know what happened to your son."

"Thank you, Inspector," Cornelia said, standing to shake his hand. Her voice was a little unsteady. "I'm most appreciative. It was very good of you to row all the way here. I'm sure you're very busy at the moment."

He nodded. "I am, unfortunately. Terrible to see the loss and devastation."

She pressed her lips together and nodded back. "Please let me get you a cool drink before you head off."

He hesitated. "Actually, I'm also here about Inspector Robinson."

Phryne put her handkerchief to her mouth to stifle her cry. Her aunt sat back down and pulled her close again.

O'Sullivan took a quick step towards her, his hand outstretched. "No, no! He's alive."

Phryne sucked in a breath, as did the others. She sat up.

"He's in Swan Hill hospital, but he's in a bad way."

She stood quickly, too quickly, the cries of _wonderful news, thank goodness for that!_ fading as the room closed in on her, squeezing the consciousness out of her until she struggled to breathe. She swayed in the darkness and silence before falling back into the storm again. The ground was cold on her back, freezing wind on her face. Jack leant close to her, patting her cheek as he called out her name. Other voices grew louder and echoed in her head. She opened her eyes just enough to see light and movement, grunting in frustration as she tried to bat away whatever it was in front of her face, but she couldn't move her arms. She blinked several times and opened her eyes wider. Her aunt was waving a magazine across her face. Frowning, she tried to push it away then tried to sit up but she was too weak, her limbs still too heavy. She was pulled into a sitting position, a glass of water pressed to her lips.

She swallowed and looked at O'Sullivan. "Jack," she said. Her voice was soft and hoarse. "Is it true? Is he alive?"

O'Sullivan smiled for the first time that day and nodded. "He was found quite close to Swan Hill, actually. The blokes who found him told me he kept mumbling something over and over as they pulled him out the water. Reckoned he must have been a fisherman. _I need fish_ , they reckoned he said. Or something like that." He huffed out a small laugh. "I get it now."

Phryne choked back a sob; even half dead he still managed to ask after her. She took another sip of water. "Can you take me to him?"

"Phryne!" her aunt barked. "You are in no state to do such a thing!" Her aunt turned to O'Sullivan. "She's had a terrible accident and has suffered immeasurable shock, Inspector. She's had very little sleep and hasn't eaten a thing all day. She's in no state to be going anywhere."

Phryne gripped O'Sullivan's arm. "Please! I'm feeling much better now. Take me to him. I need to see him."

O'Sullivan nodded. "If you're up to it."

Phryne sat up to show she was stronger. "I'm tired, but I'm unhurt. How bad is he?"

O'Sullivan looked down and pursed his lips. "Best you talk to the doctors about his condition. Don't want to give you any false hopes. He's been shot—"

"In the shoulder … yes, I was there." Phryne watched as he nodded slowly, his eyes on her scratches.

"Rightio then."

She turned to her aunt who blew out a breath in defeat. Even though she didn't need her permission, Phryne was pleased to see her nod and smile.

"Go on then, my dear," her aunt said. "I'm sure he'd want to see you too."

O'Sullivan nodded. "I reckon your aunt's on to something." He winked at her and smiled. "It'd give him a reason to live if he knows you're alive too. Besides, you can fill me in on what happened on the way there."

-o0o-

Phryne took O'Sullivan's arm as he led her down to the boat. She was still weak and was unsteady on her feet but she'd do anything to see Jack, even getting in a rickety little boat again. She tried not to feel too hopeful, but how could she not? He was alive and every part of her was desperate to believe he would make it.

Seeing the battered rowboat at the foot of the slope caused her to stop suddenly. She took a deep breath and held O'Sullivan's outstretched hand as she stepped in and sat on the seat at the stern. He put her large bag next to her and took off his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it in the boat. She watched as he rolled up his trousers and took off his socks and shoes, tossing them up the other end.

"Pardon me, miss," he said, pointing at his normally unacceptable state of undress. "Don't want to melt in this sun or ruin my shoes."

It was the first time he'd spoken since they'd left the homestead. "It's quite all right, Inspector," she said, hoping he wouldn't feel the need to chat further. She was too tired for that. She opened the parasol her aunt had insisted she take and held it above her head with both hands to keep it upright. "You can do as you like, I'm ever so grateful to you."

She watched him nod as he pushed the boat back into the water. Phryne's hand shot out to grip the side when the boat tipped as he stepped in. It settled quickly once he sat in the middle. She blew out a breath; this was harder than she thought it would be.

They were quiet for a while as he turned the boat and settled into a steady rhythm with the oars. They sat awkwardly close, his legs wide in the cramped little boat so their knees didn't touch. Phryne looked away from him and surveyed the extent of the flood, shaking her head in wonder. The water was so high she could only see the top half of the trees she had run through with Jack in the rain after he'd taken her to the bird hide. She brought her gloved hand to her nose to stop the tingle that signalled more tears. She didn't want to cry again. She turned away from the trees but didn't want to look the other way either. Too many floating objects.

O'Sullivan's deep voice broke the silence. "Robinson's a very decent bloke, you know."

Phryne blinked at him. "Yes, he is." She turned away to look at the trees again, hoping he'd get the message.

"Bit pig-headed though, I reckon, from what I've seen of him. Likes to be in charge."

Phryne frowned at him. Where was he going with this?

"They're the survivors," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. He turned down the corners of his mouth and nodded. "Too bloody stubborn to die."

Phryne huffed out a small laugh. She could see why Jack liked him. "Let's hope, Inspector."

"Mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead."

He let go of the oars, the boat barely losing speed as it was pulled along by the strong current. He rummaged through his jacket beside him on the seat until he found his pack. He offered her one. Phryne shook her head and watched him tap out a cigarette and light it with well-practiced ease. Once it was lit and the packet safely stashed away, he took hold of the oars again. "Right," he said, the cigarette hanging precariously from the corner of his mouth, "how'd you both end up in the water? Take your time, I've got a long row ahead of me."

-o0o-

Phryne walked along the corridor with O'Sullivan still holding her arm to support her. Even though the hospital was in the highest part of town, the bottom floor was under about eight inches of water, so the injured were moved upstairs and crammed into rooms already packed with men. They turned onto the private wing where she saw a constable slumped against the wall next to a door. He saw them approaching and stood straight, nodding at his superior when they got closer. Phryne could feel her heart start to pound in her chest.

They reached the room just as the door was opened by a nurse holding a surgical bowl piled high with bloody dressings and a syringe. Phryne tried to look over her shoulder but the nurse shut the door before she could see in.

"Hello Inspector," the nurse said.

O'Sullivan nodded his greeting. "Inspector Robinson has a visitor."

Phryne watched the nurse's eyes scan her face to take in the scratches. She self-consciously smoothed down her hair that her aunt had brushed earlier, after she had cleaned her up and helped her dress.

"Family?" the nurse asked.

Phryne opened her mouth, closing it again when she didn't know what to say.

"Close enough," O'Sullivan replied.

The nurse hesitated, then nodded at O'Sullivan.

"How is he?" Phryne asked. She always preferred talking to nurses. Apart from Mac, she found most doctors to be unbearably arrogant.

"Well, he was shot in the right shoulder. The bullet passed—"

"She knows," O'Sullivan interrupted. "Tended to his wounds before he went in the water. Will he live?"

Phryne watched the nurse widen her eyes and blink rapidly, no doubt from the bluntness of his question. The longer she hesitated the more lightheaded she felt. She saw the nurse's expression soften.

"Yes, I think so."

Phryne started to sway and closed her eyes, opening them with a start when she felt several hands grab her to hold her upright.

"You need to sit down," the nurse said, "I'll get you some water."

"No, no," Phryne said quickly. "I just want to see him."

The nurse nodded. "I understand," she said gently, "but you'll need to prepare yourself. He's not in a good way. He lost a lot of blood and was very weak, almost unconscious when they pulled him out so he's very lucky to be alive. He had surgery several hours ago to repair the damage and clean the wound. He's recovering well, considering. It will take a while and be long and difficult, but he should regain full use of his shoulder in time." She paused. "Our only concern now is infection."

Phryne put her hand on her arm. "Thank you." She pulled out of their grip and put her hand on the doorknob.

"One more thing," the nurse said.

Phryne was desperate to see him now and huffed out a breath in frustration. She turned her head but kept her body facing the door.

"He's in considerable pain, as you would imagine after surgery, so I've just given him a shot of morphine. Not enough to knock him out straight away, but it won't take long."

Phryne nodded. She knew.

"And come and see me afterwards and I'll tend to your scratches." The nurse smiled and walked on.

Phryne looked at O'Sullivan, who jerked his head towards the door. "Go on then," he said. "I've got some things to do. I'll come back when I'm done."

She nodded. "Thank you, Inspector. For everything."

She was already half in the room by the time O'Sullivan started to walk away. She shut the door softly behind her then turned, sucking in a breath when she saw the grey, lifeless figure in the bed. She took rapid and shallow breaths as she stepped towards him then stopped. He lay with his head turned away from the sunlight that streamed through a small window. His face was puffy, his eyes swollen shut. Without the tinges of yellow from bruises and iodine on what looked like deep cuts on his forehead and jaw, he'd be the colour of death. His torso was naked, the right shoulder heavily bandaged. Watery, rust-coloured fluid already stained the clean cloth. She could see the outline of his right arm under the blanket that was tucked up to his armpits. His left arm lay on top of the covers by his side, his hand was palm up, his fingers curled towards her in a lifeless beckon.

She should have flung herself at him, but she was unable to move, paralysed by memories of their desperate scramble for survival that led to the broken man who lay before her. She winced again at the explosion of gun shot, recoiled from the metallic tang of his blood, cried as she heard the catch of his shallow breath in his throat as he told her he loved her when he was sure he would die. She swayed as they kissed, the water lapping at their throats.

Phryne wasn't strong enough to see him like this, to be flooded with devastating memories, to be reminded of what she had done to him. She wailed as she sank to her knees, sucking in noisy breaths, just like she'd done in the water once she knew he was gone. When she managed to look at him again, she stopped crying and sucked in a breath. His eyes were open and looking at her. She stood quickly, stumbling towards him to kneel by the bed.

"Jack!" She watched him blink slowly. Phryne held his hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips so she could kiss his fingers. She tried to talk, tried to tell him how sorry she was but the words were stuck in her throat, which had tightened with a strange mix of grief and relief. All she could do was close her eyes and press his hand tightly against her cheek.

He breathed her name. She could barely hear him so she leant closer.

"Phryne … really you?"

"Yes Jack, it's me," she said kissing the palm of his hand. "I'm all right. We're both all right now. We made it." She felt his fingers move slowly against her cheek.

"So worried 'bout you." He spoke slowly, his voice was flat and breathy.

"It's all right Jack. I'm here now."

The bed creaked softly as she sat next to him. She tried not to cry again as she thought about how lucky he was. The bullet could have killed him, he could have drowned in the river. Once he went under for surgery, there was a risk of death from anaesthesia and even now, post-operative infection. But here he was, swollen and crippled, but alive, and she had never felt so grateful. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his cheek. "Are you in pain?"

Jack opened his eyes slowly again to look at her. "No."

She smiled, thank goodness for morphine. She knew all too well what he was feeling, thanks to the opium she smoked in Shanghai: heaviness of limbs, lightness of mind, the struggle to keep eyes open and talk. She also knew once his pain had lessened, he wouldn't have a care in the world.

She pulled down the covers so she could run her hand over his chest. "How are you feeling, Jack?"

His eyes were closed but he gave her a lopsided smile. "Warm … heavy. Floating." He tried to squeeze her hand but was too week. He opened his eyes a little to look at her again. "Untethered."

Phryne huffed out a small laugh. She leant forward to kiss him gently on the lips. "Oh, my darling."

"Mmm."

"What, Jack?"

"Darling … like that."

She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Tired."

"I know," she said, caressing his face. "Sleep now. I'll be here." He nodded once then lapsed into unconsciousness. She looked at him sleeping, his head to the side, mouth slightly open. She traced his lips with her thumb until she could stand it no more and she kissed him again.

She sat up, her eyes never leaving his face. She glanced at the door and then bent over to take off her soggy boots. She stood and peeled off her jacket then pulled the tightly tucked sheets free of the mattress so she could get under the covers and lie with her head on his shoulder. She snuggled into him, sighing heavily in relief as she wrapped her arm around him to hold him tight, careful not to touch his right arm. This is where she wanted, no, needed to be, lying with her cheek on the warmth of his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. After a minute or two, she fell into a deep sleep for the first time in days.

-o0o-

O'Sullivan knocked politely on the door and opened it to let Phryne know he was ready to take her back to his place, where she agreed to stay the night. He tutted softly at seeing them lying in the bed together, fast asleep. He knew that would contravene all sorts of hospital regulations, so he should have woken her and taken her home, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He looked at his watch. Aww, what the hell, he'd get the nurse to leave them and call him back in an hour or two after dinner. He smiled as he quietly shut the door, nodding at the new constable who would guard his friend through the night, just in case someone came back for him. He shook his head and muttered to himself as he walked down the hall. _You big bloody softie._


	21. Chapter 21

_Not too long now, dear readers. We're nearing the end of the story ..._

 _Thank you for all your lovely reviews and continued support. I couldn't have done it without you. :-)_

* * *

Phryne opened her eyes and tried to blink away her nightmare. _He's alive, s_ he whispered to herself. She wiped her eyes and blew out a breath but her heart was still racing from being back in the water again, clutching at Jack, feeling him slip through her fingers, seeing his dead eyes on her as the water dragged him away. _You did this to me,_ he said to her, before disappearing forever.

She pulled the covers over her shoulder and stayed lying on her side with her legs tucked up. Her eyes scanned the small room, which was crowded with bunks and a single bed by the window, for something to replace the image of him that had haunted her from the moment she fell asleep after being plucked from the water. A high shelf was crammed with books and a couple of stuffed toys: Raggedy Ann and her lifeless friend Andy. They sat slumped against each other on the end of the shelf, grubby and ratty from being loved by many children. They looked back at her with their unblinking dead eyes.

She rolled onto her back to look out the window instead and groaned at the cloudless blue sky. Is this how it was going to be from now on? Would every blue sky remind her of him and what they went through together before he disappeared from her life? She tried to picture him lying in the hospital and felt her breath catch in her throat. She missed him terribly and looked forward to seeing him again that morning. Hopefully he'd be more lucid, less puffy and grey, less like the Jack that haunted her dreams.

She pushed back her hair that was stuck to her sweaty brow, turning to reach for her watch. Just after seven, an hour she would normally describe as ungodly, but she was wide awake, having slept solidly since she was bundled into bed at nine the night before. And that was after a couple of hours' sleep in his hospital bed. The nurse had woken her by shaking her shoulder. _Up you get_ , she had said gently, _the Inspector_ _'_ _s waiting for you in the hall_. Phryne was groggy and disoriented and wanted to stay with Jack but didn't argue for once. On the way back to O'Sullivan's house, they stopped at the station so she could call Mac to get her to organise Jack's transfer back to Melbourne. He'd get better care in the private hospital close to her house, and Mac could look in on him. She also tried to telephone the homestead but the line was still down. She'd just have to trust that the butcher and others had stayed close to her aunt, Cornelia and Millie like she asked.

She stretched. The twinges and aches that plagued her yesterday had already lessened and she was starting to feel more like herself again. She smiled at the memory of Mrs O'Sullivan, who insisted she call her Eileen, take one look at her bruises and scratches and pull her into a hug. Phryne had melted against her; she didn't have the energy to resist being embraced by a stranger, nor did she want to. Eileen pulled away and held her at arm's length as she studied her scrapes. _Let'_ _s get that beautiful face of yours cleaned up then, shall we?_ Phryne smiled at her motherly warmth and let her fuss over her. She was fed and bathed, her scratches were tended to, then tucked into bed after the youngest children were relocated to their big sister's room for the night. Even the dog seemed to be concerned for her welfare, giving the back of her hand a quick lick when she was having ointment applied to her wounds.

She turned her head at three quiet knocks on the door.

"Come in."

Eileen opened the door with a cup of tea in her hand. Phryne could hear children squabbling in the background. She closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed, twisting to put the cup on the window sill, then turning to face her. She smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Phryne stared at her. She must have been too exhausted and emotional last night to notice how beautiful she was. Her full lips were stretched into a wide smile that reached her eyes. Wavy hair that glowed a beautiful gold in the light from the window framed a heart-shaped face with high cheek bones, and she was curvy in all the right places. Phryne wondered if Jack had met her, knowing he too would find her attractive, and was rewarded with a stab of jealousy. _I deserved to feel that_ , she thought. She should be encouraging him to find someone just like her: warm, kind, beautiful, fecund, rather than the stubborn and self-absorbed hedonist who seemed to have captured his heart. Problem was, she couldn't imagine him with someone else, she just couldn't. Nor did she want to.

Phryne snapped her mouth shut, then smiled back at her. "I'm much better thank you."

Eileen nodded. "Good."

Phryne's smile quickly faded when she saw the worry on her face. "Is everything all right?" she asked, sitting up quickly.

Eileen patted her leg. "Nothing to worry about, sweetie. The Inspector's fine."

"What is it then?"

"He's already left for Melbourne."

Phryne sucked in a breath and frowned. "What? But he was supposed to go mid-morning. When did he leave?"

Eileen passed her the cup of tea. "About an hour ago. The hospital doesn't have a spare ambulance to take him the whole way. They're all still needed to collect bodies now the water's receding. They'll take him as far as Bendigo, then one from there will take him on to Melbourne. I'm sorry, I knew you'd be disappointed to hear that, but if it makes you feel any better, he would have been doped up to the eyeballs. He's going to have a bumpy ride after all the rain we've had."

Phryne nodded. Yes, she was disappointed. "I understand." She gave one shoulder a half-hearted shrug. "I'll see him in Melbourne when I get back." She managed a small smile. "Thank you, Eileen, for everything. You've both been most kind."

Eileen waved away her thanks. "It's our pleasure. You've had quite a rough time from the sounds of it. When do you think you'll be heading home?"

"Depends on the flood waters, I suppose. As soon as possible."

"Well, that's why I'm here, actually. The water drained away quite a bit overnight so the bridge isn't under any more. That means one of Martin's constables can drive you back to the homestead, but it has to be within the hour."

Phryne beamed at her. "That is good news!"

"Yes, it is, and the telephone line's fixed at Yarrowee. Martin called them a short while ago and they're all safe and well and looking forward to seeing you." She patted her knee and stood. "Come out for breakfast when you're ready."

Phryne was still grinning. "I'll be right out."

Once the door closed, she put her untouched tea down, flung back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was pleased she'd be able to get back to the homestead to make sure everyone was safe before she drove back to Melbourne. Going home and caring for Jack was her priority now, even if there were still many unanswered questions. Harry and Millie were safe, but Wright and the others were still missing, except Frederick or course; she knew where he lay. She couldn't help but wonder though ... who shot him?

Phryne stood up and dressed. With any luck she could spend the day getting answers to some of her questions and leave early the next morning.

-o0o-

Jack looked up at the knock, expecting to see the nurse enter to check his bandages. His breath caught in his throat when the door opened and he saw Phryne standing in the doorway. He put down the newspaper he was reading and smiled at her, watching her expression change from apprehension to relief. She took a few slow steps towards him then almost ran to the bed. She sat down next to him after dumping a large bag on the chair. They held hands and grinned at each other, half laughing, half crying in relief at seeing each other again.

He was too groggy from the pain and morphine to remember much about her first visit, just his relief at discovering she was alive. After he had woken to find her gone, he assumed the lingering feeling of her pressed up against him under the covers was a drug-induced fantasy, but every now and then snippets of what had to be memories made their way into his consciousness. In his brief moments of lucidity in between injections, he remembered her head on his shoulder, her hand on his skin, the brush of her lips against his, the whisper of darling that had echoed in his mind ever since. He eventually asked the nurse, who told him all about the visit from his _sweetheart_. He had smiled at that, until she asked him when they would marry.

He looked at her gazing intensely at his face, her fingers once again on his skin as she lightly traced the scar from the wound she had cleaned above his left eye when he unexpectedly turned up at the station, before moving onto the new scrapes and scratches as the flood waters rolled him into fallen trees and the remains of smashed boats. He wondered if the story of their week together would be forever inscribed on his skin.

"It's true," he said, taking her hand in his and smiling. "It's me. I'm alive." She blinked and looked him in the eye, her trance broken. Jack could hear her ragged breathing as she stopped smiling and contorted her face as she tried not to cry.

"And I'm so thankful for that," she whispered.

When he saw her chin started to quiver, he pulled her head to his shoulder and held her tightly against him, nuzzling his cheek against the back of her head while she cried. He too shed tears; he had much to cry about lately but he hadn't allowed it, preferring to feel embarrassment at his desperate and awkward proposal of marriage, then frustration and anger at their argument in her cottage. Then came the shock of being shot, and terror when he went into the water. Crying in relief felt like a luxury compared to how he'd felt the last week or so. He ran his hand up and down her back. He wasn't just soothing her, he too needed comfort from the burning pain in his shoulder, the ache in his lungs and the nightmares where he relived his time in the water, frantically clutching for something, anything that would stop him being taken away from her.

She turned on the bed so she could lie up against him with her knees on his thighs and forehead pressed against his cheek. He wrapped his arm around her and felt her hand slide under his unbuttoned pyjamas. She cried, quietly at first, then her breathing grew more ragged until she buried her face in his neck and wailed. He wasn't going to tell her to shush. They both needed to do this so they could try and move on from the horrors of that night.

He ran his fingers through her hair and caressed her scalp, knowing how much she loved it when he did that. "We'll be all right, Phryne. We made it." She nodded against him and took a deep breath as she slowly stopped crying, sniffing occasionally and wiping her face with the handkerchief she clutched tightly in her hand. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her back, feeling her body become heavier against his as she began to relax.

They lay together for a while until Phryne pulled out of his hold and sat up to face him. "I'm so sorry, Jack. It's all my—"

"No Phryne," he said quickly, shaking his head. He reached out to touch her face. "Don't say it. It's not your fault. I won't ever accept that."

Phryne shook her head. "I was so worried about you." She wiped away the last of her tears and peeled back his pyjama top to look at his bandaged shoulder. "How are you feeling?" She looked back to his face. "Your colour's much better."

Jack smiled at her shiny, red nose. He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear; a well-practised gesture that felt clumsy with his left hand. "A bit sore, but happy to be here. Is everyone safe. When did you get here?"

She managed a small smile back at him. "I drove back yesterday, and yes, everyone's safe. And I am very, very happy you are too."

He watched her wrestle with her emotions again. "Phryne," he said softly. He reached for her hand and ran his thumb over her palm. She sucked in a breath and pulled it away. He frowned and reached for it again, turning it over to look at her wounds. She had deep scratches from her fingertips to the heel of her palm. He flicked his eyes up at her then turned over her other hand, which was also badly scratched. His breathing quickened as he was suddenly in the water trying to pull her back onto the wharf, wanting to scream at the pain in his shoulder that was pressed hard up against wood, terrified she'd be swept away by the current.

"Jack?"

She was frowning at him.

"Are you all right?"

He closed his eyes for a short while then nodded. "Yes, I, er …" He pressed his lips together and shrugged his undamaged shoulder. "I'd be better without the memories and dreams."

Phryne nodded and put her hand on his arm. "I understand. I've had some terrible nightmares, too."

Jack looked at her for a while then down at his hand when he found her gaze too intense. "You were all I thought about when I was in the water." He ran his fingertips over the back of her hand. "What happened to you after, I, er, we …," he shook his head, "the boat …"

"After we went into the water?"

He nodded. "You don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to."

Phryne was quiet as she looked out the window for a short while. "I'm all right, I think." She took a deep breath. "Not long after I surfaced I was swept into a fallen tree. I was lucky, the leaves cushioned the blow. I could have hit my head on the trunk or a big branch. I held on and managed to climb out of the water." She huffed out a small laugh. "I climbed a lot of trees as a child but not like that." She turned her hands to look at her palms. "I have a few scratches, but nothing serious."

Jack looked at her forehead and frowned. He pushed back her fringe and saw a large bruise. "Ouch." He ran his thumb gently over the lump. "How'd you get that?"

"Hit my head on the boat when I untied the rope." She closed her eyes and shook her head at the memory.

"How'd you get back to the homestead?"

Phryne straightened, creating more space between them. She fingered the hem of her blouse, taking a deep breath before answering. "I clung to the tree for what seemed like hours. Soon after it was light, I saw the butcher and another man in a boat." She huffed out a small laugh. "I waved and hollered at them. Almost fainted in relief when they saw me. They hauled me in and I sat with the other bedraggled and half-dead creatures they'd found that morning. All I remember after that was begging them to look for you and being wrapped in a large coat. I woke up in Aunt P's bed about six hours later with her holding my bandaged hands." She blinked rapidly. "You were my first thoughts, of course, but no-one had found you or heard anything. The telephone line was down, so we were isolated." She paused to wipe her eyes again. "I even prayed to a god I never believed in that you'd be found alive. I was physically sick at the thought that you might be dead. I …" She blew out a breath and looked down at her hands.

Jack could see her trying to be strong. She looked up at him. His heart broke at seeing her so sad. He wanted to wipe away her tears, kiss her shiny red nose, tell her it was his love for her that kept him alive. He reached out hold her hand, more gently this time. "We're a little battered and bruised," he said smiling, "and what happened to us was terrifying, but we made it, Phryne. Let's focus on that."

Phryne gazed at him for a while, then nodded.

"What happened to the others? I assume Harry and Millie made it back to the homestead?"

"Yes, they're safe and well, thank goodness. Millie's quite shaken of course, but they're unharmed."

Jack smiled. "That's good news. And the rest of them? What happened to Wright and Florence and the others?"

Phryne sobered. "Florence is still missing. The rest of them are dead."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Dead? All of them? How?"

Phryne chewed on her lip and was quiet for a while. "Frederick, Peters and Bartlett had autopsies yesterday. Inspector O'Sullivan made sure they were done in Swan Hill." Phryne fell silent for a few moments. Even though they tried to kill them, he suspected she was still affected by their deaths.

"Peters was so young." She shook her head.

"How'd they die?"

She looked at him. "Shot dead with the same pistol, apparently. Except Frederick. He was shot with a rifle."

"A rifle?" Jack frowned and shook his head. "That poor woman. How's Mrs Morecroft taking it?"

"It's a bit hard to tell," Phryne said. "She's being her usual stoic self, you know what she's like, but it must be hard for her, even if they were essentially estranged."

Jack nodded then worked his jaw for a while. "Who found them?"

"Harry."

"Where?"

"The woolshed."

Jack raised an eyebrow. It felt good to talk about the case again. "Is that where they were killed?"

"Well, I didn't speak to a policeman about it," she said, widening her eyes at him, "not too many of them left in Balranald. The butcher said was there was a lot of blood on the floor, so possibly, yes."

Jack made a noise in this throat. "And Wright?"

Phryne shook her head and blew out a breath. "You'll never believe it. He was found pinned down by a large branch that fell from a tree close to the homestead. He must have seen Harry and the others coming and hid among the trees by the river. He would have drowned in the rising floodwaters." She widened her eyes. "What are the odds of that happening?"

"High."

"What?"

"The odds are high. Looks like the widow-makers have lived up to their reputation."

Phryne frowned and cocked her head in confusion. "The what?"

"Widow-makers. That's what the gum trees around the lake and river are called. Red gums, river reds, widow-makers. They drop their branches without warning. Many a man's been crushed to death by those trees."

"How would you know that? Why would a tree just drop its branches?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Nobody knows." He suppressed a smirk, it was wrong to find amusement in what would have been a harrowing death.

Phryne narrowed her eyes and frowned. "What's so funny?"

Jack let himself smile this time. She was always good at reading him. "Nothing. It's just something my father said to me years ago when we were on a fishing trip. He'd never let me stand underneath one."

"Oh. I didn't know that. Well, there's another reason not to come back to the country."

Jack smiled at her. "Who found him?"

"One of the jackaroos. They spent most of yesterday looking for any sheep that may have survived." She went quiet for a while. "We all assumed he'd escaped and somehow survived. I have to admit, I felt sorry for him when I heard they'd found him. I hated him, of course, but still, that's a terrible way to go."

Jack sobered as he remembered how he had treated him that night. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "His hands … were they still—"

"No." Phryne said quickly.

Jack looked at her. She was a good actor, but he was also a good detective. He let her think she'd fooled him for once.

"He was pinned down by an enormous branch. He hasn't been autopsied yet, but he had no gun wounds, we know that. Perhaps the branch killed him."

Jack was quiet for a while. "Do you think he was telling the truth about getting Millie out of the home?"

Phryne shrugged. "I don't suppose we'll ever know, now that both he and Frederick are gone. Nor will we know who Millie's father was. Her mother told Cornelia that Frederick was the father before she died, so I can only assume Wright didn't know that Frederick had …," she paused, "well, you know."

Jack nodded. "Well at least we don't have to worry about them coming after Millie any more." He grunted. "Except for Florence, of course. It'd be good to know what happened to her. She was the most dangerous of all of them."

Phryne nodded. "Yes, that's still worrying."

"O'Sullivan told me he rowed you across to see me."

Phryne brightened a little. "He rowed all the way over to tell Cornelia about Frederick. And to tell us about you, of course. That was very good of him. I insisted he bring me across to see you, once he told us you were alive."

Jack huffed out a small laugh. "So, he said."

"When did you speak to him?"

"First thing before I left in the ambulance. He wanted to make sure I survived the night. Said something about not wanting to add another door knock to his long list."

She smiled at him. "He and his wife were very good to me. I stayed the night with them after seeing you in hospital. They were so kind. I want to send them a gift, to thank them for all they did for us. Do you have any ideas?"

Jack pursed his lips and thought for a while. He tried to sit up and cried out in pain, clutching his shoulder and falling back against the pillows.

Phryne quickly stood to help him sit up and rearrange the pillows behind his back before sitting back on the bed and frowning. "I'll call the nurse. You must be due for another shot. When was your last injection?"

"No, no." Jack lifted his hand. "I'm fine, Phryne."

"No, you're not. You're as white as a sheet." She stood again. "I'll get the nurse."

"No need," he said quickly. "I've stopped that now."

She swivelled to face him again. "What? It's only been three days. Why would you do that?"

"I don't need it anymore."

Phryne frowned. "Well, clearly you do, Jack. Why would you refuse it?"

He looked out the window and was quiet for a few moments.

She sat back down. "Jack?"

He sighed. "I …" He looked at her. "I came to rely on it."

Phryne squeezed his hand. "You wanted to ease your pain, Jack. That's perfectly normal."

"I know, but ..." his voice trailed off and he turned to look out the window again. "I …"

Phryne leant closer. "Yes?" she prompted gently, hoping he would keep talking.

He shrugged. "It made me feel strange, that's all."

"Of course it did. That's the point. Morphine feels very good. Nothing wrong with that after all you've been though. You suffered so much, you don't need to give yourself a hard time on top of that, Jack." She stood. "Let me call the nurse for you."

"No!"

Phryne looked at him with raised eyebrows and sat back down.

"Sorry," he said, still avoiding her eye. "I shouldn't've snapped."

Phryne put her hand on his. "That's all right, Jack. How often were you having it?"

Jack looked at her then down at her hand. He was uncomfortable looking her in the eye. "Don't know, but I wanted it all the time. Not just for the pain, either," he said, flicking his eyes up at her. "After the injection, I felt completely at ease with the world and my lot in life, and that's not something I feel very often. Nothing mattered and everything was going to be fine. My shoulder, the transfer," he paused to look at her, "us."

Phryne held his hand in both of hers.

"And when it wore off," he continued, "the reality of my life was unbearable. It made me realise how weighed down I have felt lately." He pursed his lips and nodded, avoiding her eye again, "I asked for it more often than I should have." He looked up at her. "I lied. Told them the pain was unbearable. Well, I was in a lot of pain, but it wasn't the physical pain I wasn't coping with. And then when it wore off, I would hate myself for being so weak, for wanting to be a doped-up fool. Then I wanted it to escape the self-loathing, and so the cycle continued. Once I got here I stopped the injections."

Phryne looked at him sadly then linked her hands at the back of his neck. She leant into him so their foreheads were touching. "I understand, Jack, I really do. Because you," she said slowly, "are my morphine. Nothing else matters when I'm with you."

Jack slowly exhaled and slid his hand up her back and into her hair. It felt good to have her close again. Too good. Her breath was warm on his face as she nuzzled her nose against his. He wanted to kiss her, lie down with her arms wrapped around him. Her closeness was making him dizzy and he started to breathe heavily. He cupped the back of her head in his hand and tilted his face up slowly until he felt her lips against his.

"No," he said, quickly turning his face away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Phryne. I can't do that with you anymore." He looked at her and shook his head.

Phryne pulled away from him. Her eyes had filled with tears again. "Please Jack. Don't push me away now. We need each other. Let me look after you. Please Jack, let me care for you."

He shook his head, he couldn't look at her. "It's too painful to keep seeing you. I think it's best that we don't see each other until just before I go."

"What? No, Jack! Why?" She shook her head. "You need looking after. Let me, please. Just for a few weeks if you like."

He looked at her. "I'd rather a few weeks discomfort than the heartache of seeing you, kissing you, feeling your hands on my skin, knowing that I will be moving away from you. I can't do that again, Phryne."

Phryne put her hand on the back of his neck and leant close again. "But you did it before, Jack. Our time together was so special. Why not now?"

"Because I hoped you might realise that you loved me and wanted to be with me." He watched as she struggled to hold back tears.

"I did," she whispered. "I still do."

"Love me or want to be with me?"

"Both"

Jack widened his eyes. "Does that mean—"

"No Jack," she said quickly. She sat back from him put her head in her hands. "It doesn't."

Jack blinked slowly. He nodded. "Of course it doesn't. I should know that by now."

Phryne opened her mouth to say something but was stopped by a knock on the door. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose as the nurse walked in.

"Visiting time's over, ma'am," the nurse said to Phryne. "I need to change the Inspector's bandages."

Phryne looked at Jack with wide eyes. She shook her head. "Just a few minutes more please." She didn't take her eyes from him.

"Sorry ma'am, but the doctor will be here in a minute to look at the Inspector's shoulder and I need to get the bandages off."

Phryne put her hand over her mouth to suppress a sob. She nodded, then stood and walked to her bag on the chair. She pulled out several books and a small leather case then walked back to him.

"I brought you some books," she said in a wavering voice. She placed them on the small table next to his bed. She ran her hand over the smooth leather case before holding it out to him. She looked at him. "And some reading glasses."

Jack looked awkwardly at the nurse who was waiting patiently by his bed with a bowl that contained bandages and various ointments. He took the glasses from Phryne. "Thank you." Phryne nodded and went to move away from him, but he grabbed her wrist. "I'll see you before I go." He waited for her to look at him, but she didn't. She pulled her wrist gently from his grasp, collected her bag and walked out the door.

-o0o-

Jack looked up from his book at the knock on the door. He hoped it was Phryne but was pleasantly surprised to see Mac poke her head in the room to see if he was awake. She smiled at him then walked in.

"New spectacles, Inspector?"

"Er … yes," he said self-consciously. He took them off and placed them into their case. "Reading glasses."

She smiled and nodded. "I'm not too far off them myself. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you."

"Pain in the shoulder?"

"Manageable." He smiled at her then flicked his eyes to the small bundle of files she hugged to her chest.

"Ah," she said, looking down at the papers, "I wanted to see how you were getting on, of course, but I'm also here because I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the cases we were working on before you left for Geelong." She moved closer so she could stand by his bed. "The plod they assigned to the case to replace you is useless!"

Jack smiled. He had come to enjoy his trips to the morgue once Doctor Macmillan took over, despite the gruesome details of their discussion. She was good to work with, was as sharp as a whip and had a good sense of humour, unlike her antiquated predecessor. And, he had to admit, he enjoyed her company. Before moving to Geelong, he had started to stay longer than necessary as their discussions turned to other things that he couldn't talk to his colleagues about, like politics or world events, or sometimes even Phryne.

"Yes, I heard they assigned Baxter to my cases," he said with a knowing look.

"Nice enough man," Mac replied, "but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed."

Jack smirked.

"Anyway," she said, "I was thinking if you were bored you might like to look over my autopsy notes. I have a theory on the Hunter murder that I want to run by you."

Jack paused. He wondered if Phryne had told her about his transfer. "Well … I won't be around to work on the cases."

Mac frowned. "Yes, I know. Not for a good few weeks or so, but I thought if you got bored you might like to help me with the—"

"Mac." Jack knew that would get her attention. He had never called her that before.

Mac stopped talking but her mouth remained open. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm transferring to Geelong."

Mac's mouth dropped open again and she stared at him. It took her a few moments to talk. "What? When? For how long?"

"As soon as I am fit enough to travel."

"For how long?" she said again. He could hear the worry in her voice.

"Permanently."

She sucked in a breath. "What the … but why? What idiot would send you to Geelong when you are so needed here? Why would they do that? This is your home. I need you here! Whose stupid idea was this? Tell me so I can—"

"Me. It was my stupid idea," he said softly, lowering his eyes. "I requested a transfer to Geelong to permanently fill the post I've been acting in."

Mac looked like she had been slapped and sat down on the edge of the bed. "But why?" she asked, frowning and shaking her head in confusion. "Actually," she said quickly, putting up her hand, her palm facing him, "don't bother answering that. I know why. Something devastatingly terrible happened to you and her name is Phryne Fisher."

Jack turned his head to look out the window.

Mac put the files on the bed and stood abruptly. She paced around the room, her hands on her hips. "I knew it!" she muttered. "That bloody …" She whipped around to face him. "What did she do to you?" She put both her hands up this time and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. You don't have to answer that, obviously. This has just come as a bit of a shock."

Jack was touched that she was so rattled by the idea of him leaving. "She didn't do anything," he volunteered. "I made the decision when she was in England. I felt I needed a change, to get out of Melbourne. The opportunity arose, so I took it."

She frowned and pursed her lips, then narrowed her eyes at him. Jack swallowed. Of course she'd suspect there was more to his transfer than he was letting on. She worked her jaw for a few moments, shook her head, then looked at him sadly.

"Right. Well, I don't suppose there's anything I can say to change your mind?"

Jack shook his head. He tried to keep a neutral expression but it would have been obvious to her that this was a very difficult decision to make.

"Well, I'm not going to pretend I won't miss you," she said with her usual frankness. "You're a damn good detective. And a good drinking partner," she said with a small smile.

Jack smiled back at her then looked down at his lap as she stared out the window. She seemed deflated, sad perhaps. Maybe she had come to enjoy his company too. It had been clear to him that she had also missed Phryne and was happy to talk to someone who also understood her friend, very much so in his case.

She blew out a long, slow breath and walked back to the bed. She slowly gathered up the files, hugging them to her chest again. "I'll check in on you before they discharge you. They want you to stay for another few days."

Jack nodded. "Yes, just until the risk of infection has passed."

She opened her mouth to stay something but thought the better of it. She looked at the bed for a while, blinking rapidly, then looked at him. "You have a long and painful recovery in front of you, Jack. Nothing will be easy for a while, dressing, cooking, and bathing especially, so I was going to suggest that Phryne play nurse when you get out of here. Am I to assume that this is completely out of the question now?"

Jack felt his face grow warm. He turned away from her to try and hide the blush. Mac must know he and Phryne had been intimate to suggest that she should help him bathe.

"Hmm." She nodded. "I'll take that as a yes." She looked at him sadly. "Well then," she said, snapping back into her doctor persona. "I have some urgent business to attend to. Take care, Jack. I'll see you soon." She nodded and walked briskly out the door.


	22. Chapter 22

_Thanks you for all your wonderful reviews! This is Mac's chapter as many of you predicted. ;-)_

* * *

Mac pushed past Mr Butler before he could ask Phryne if she was receiving guests. She started talking the moment she set foot in the room.

"What the hell did you do to Jack? What's going on with you two?"

Mr Butler made a hasty retreat. Phryne, who was sitting on her chaise longue turned away from her and groaned. "Please don't, Mac. Not now."

Mac stood in front of her with her hands on her hips and immediately forgot she was angry. In all the time she had known Phryne, she had sat straight and stood tall, not because of the finishing school she was forced to attend, but because it was her nature. Shoulders back, head held high, eyes up. Always. The woman before her was a sad, shrunken figure curled with her knees up in a nest of cushions. Her nose was a shiny red and her eyes were puffy from crying. Mac sat next to her and reached for her hand. All the anger had been knocked out of her.

"Jesus Phryne. What happened? Are you all right?"

Phryne flicked her eyes at her. "Not really."

"Jack?"

Phryne nodded.

Mac squeezed her hand. "I've just come from seeing him. He told me about the transfer."

Phryne nodded again but didn't speak. Mac prised the empty glass from her grip and walked to the drinks table to fill it. After she had poured her a generous slug of gin, she poured a large one for herself; something told her she'd be there for a while. She handed her the glass and sat opposite her in the armchair.

"What happened?"

Phryne lifted her eyes to hers and sighed. "How long have you got?"

Mac knew she was joking but gave her an answer anyway. "The rest of the day, actually. I'm on the early shift tomorrow." She watched Phryne blink slowly and nod as she stared into the unlit fireplace. She had told her about the shooting and boat accident when she called her to ask for help in getting Jack relocated to Melbourne, so the scratches on her face and hands weren't a shock. It was her dishevelment that worried her. Her hair was askew and tangled at the back of her head, lines of mascara ran down either side of her nose to her chin, and a big toe protruded from a hole in her stocking. She had barely moved since she entered the room. After a few moments, she leant forward and gave her knee a bit of a shake. "Come on, sit up and have a drink."

Phryne shook her head. "That doesn't help. Believe me, I've been trying it all afternoon."

Mac watched her for a while. "Well," she said softly. "Something tells me there'll be no stories of your escapades with Jack in Woop Woop."

"Maybe one day," Phryne said softly. She took a sip of her drink. "You like him, don't you?"

Mac raised her eyebrows. It was Phryne's story she wanted to hear, but she knew she wouldn't be able to force it out of her. Even though they had never really spoken about matters of the heart before, well, matters of Phryne's heart, she suspected she'd have to take it slowly to get her to talk about it.

"Yes, I like him," she said, nodding. "I like him a lot actually. He's a very decent man and a damn good detective. Treats me well too, unlike the other pigs I have to deal with." She narrowed her eyes. "They hate that there's a woman in that job. My sex alone makes me unworthy of the position, apparently. Not to Jack, though." She raised a finger from her glass and pointed it at Phryne. "He respects me, I can see that. And I respect him. I'm really annoyed he's leaving."

"So I noticed," Phryne said slowly.

Mac pursed her lips. "Actually, I'm sad, too." She put her drink on the small table beside her and pulled a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her tweed jacket. She lit one, her eyes never leaving her friend's face. "I enjoy his company," she continued after her first drag. "We had a drink or two after work quite a few times, as you know. At first I thought it was because he was lonely, or maybe I was the closest connection he had here to you, but actually, I think he enjoyed my company too."

"He does enjoy your company, Mac."

Mac blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth. "He told you that?"

Phryne shook her head. "I could tell." She managed to lift the corners of her mouth a little. "He's not taken, you know. Maybe there's hope for you yet."

Mac snorted a small laugh, pleased to see her friend smile, even if it was a strained one. "I'm surprised he's still single, actually," she said, eyeing Phryne through the smoke of her cigarette. "He's a bit of a catch, I reckon: smart, funny, quite emotional for a man." She flicked her eyebrows at Phryne. "Dishy, too. But then, I've always been drawn to the quiet type. You have to work a bit harder to get to know them but they're usually worth it in the end." She tapped Phryne's foot. "You're the exception of course, there's nothing quiet or subtle about you."

Phryne narrowed her eyes at her playful dig. "He had an offer of marriage just before I left, actually."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "Really? A woman asked Jack to marry her? How utterly modern. Let me guess," she said, looking up and playfully tapping her chin with her finger, "he said no because his heart belonged to another."

Phryne shrugged. "Perhaps. What did you talk about with him after work?"

Mac eyed her quietly. "That's enough about how I feel about Jack. How do you feel about him?" She watched Phryne sigh heavily and stare into the fireplace again. She was quiet for so long she started to think she wouldn't be able to get her talk at all.

"It's awfully complicated," Phryne said eventually. She took a sip of her drink and shifted on her seat.

"Of course, it is. Attraction is complicated. Jack is complicated. And you," Mac said, pointing at her again, "are the most complicated of all."

Phryne looked upwards and nodded slowly. " _Everything is complicated with you._ "

"What?"

Phryne looked back at her. "Something he said to me early on." She shook her head. "Little did he know."

"You obviously made an impression, then."

Phryne smiled, more genuinely this time. "Possibly. I remember liking that he said that."

"You liked that he described you as complicated?" Mac asked with a small frown.

"Yes, I did. I liked that he wanted to look beyond the title and glamour."

Mac was pleased she was slowly coming to life. She took the last drag of her cigarette and stubbed it out as she blew out the smoke. "How about you? Were you drawn to him from the beginning?"

Phryne shrugged. "Intrigued maybe." She twirled her hair in her fingers and stared at the bookcase behind Mac, lost in her memories. "I remember thinking he had an air of authority, but I could tell he wasn't authoritarian." She flicked her eyes at Mac. "That's a quality I admire." She let her eyes drift back to the bookcase then frowned. "He seemed so rigid and antagonistic at first, then he slowly started to thaw. As I got to know him, I realised he was clever too, and surprisingly cultured for a policeman." She smiled to herself. "Suddenly I found myself craving his company."

Phryne put her glass on the table next to the chaise and sat up a little straighter. "But what really drew me to him was his compassion and open-mindedness. He was obviously devoted to upholding the law, but he also saw how unjust it could be, and was willing to bend the rules a little. I suspected he was attracted to me, of course," she said with a wave of her hand, "but the more I got to know him, the more attracted I was to him. In hindsight, I think I was drawn to him earlier than I let myself believe." She blinked slowly and smiled. "He wouldn't let me push him around either." She looked at Mac. "I like that in person. He has a quiet confidence about him."

"So, it's true then."

"What is?"

"That opposites attract."

Phryne shrugged. "Must be. I said the same thing after sharing a bottle of wine with him a few weeks before I left for England. After the proposal, actually. We were quite sozzled by the end. I don't remember the whole night but I do remember desperately wanting to kiss him."

Mac sat quietly and smirked at her friend.

Phryne narrowed her eyes at her. "What?"

"The look on your face when you were talking about him."

"What look?"

"You're in love with him."

Phryne looked into the fireplace and shifted in her seat.

"You're squirming!" Mac said, trying to hide her glee.

Phryne gave her a sideways glance, then wiggled her backside into the cushions. "I don't squirm! I'm just getting comfortable."

Mac chuckled. This was the Phryne she knew and loved. "Well then, are you?"

Phryne shifted again.

Mac raised her eyebrows.

"No, I'm not!" Phryne huffed out a breath and shrugged. "I don't know!" She sighed heavily and flopped her chin in her hand. "Yes. All right then … yes. It seems I am."

Mac eyed her quietly. "And I assume Jack still loves you?"

Phryne nodded slowly. "Yes, he does. Although he's trying very hard not to."

"So ...," Mac said, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head, "he loves you, you love him." She frowned at her. "What the hell happened?"

Phryne took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She drew back the corner of her mouth. "I happened."

"Go on."

Phryne leant forward. "He asked me to marry him!"

Mac grimaced and flopped back against her seat. She took a sip of her drink and was quiet for a while. "Oh dear. I suppose that conversation didn't go well. No prizes for guessing your answer, then."

Phryne shook her head slowly. "No."

"And then what happened?"

Phryne closed her eyes and put her elbows on her knees so she could put her head in her hands. "It was disastrous!"

"Did this happen this morning in the hospital?"

She ran her hands though her hair. "Yes and no."

"Want to tell me about it?"

Phryne looked up at her. "Yes and no."

"Come on, sunshine. Let it out."

Phryne groaned. "Don't call me that, Mac."

Mac frowned and held her hand out, palm up. "I've always called you that. Why can't I call you that?"

"It's another long story."

"I told you I have all day," Mac said as she nudged her foot with hers. "Why don't you start with what happened in England, I know it was more than …," she pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling as she recalled Phryne's words. "How did you describe what happened with Jack before you left?"

"I said there was some awkwardness between us."

Mac nodded. "Yes, that's right. I didn't believe you, of course."

"You were right not to believe me. I caused much more than awkwardness." She took a deep breath and looked at her. "We kept in touch once I left, wrote often actually. We talked of our lives mostly, then after a while they became more personal and we wrote about how we were feeling." She looked upwards and shook her head slowly. "God how I lived for those letters." She looked back at Mac. "Then I seized up, felt paralysed by how much I missed him. After a while, I realised I was in love with him. That terrified me, so I decided I should distance myself from him, so I went to the ball that I told you about, and tried to … well you know, but that only made matters worse. I couldn't go through with it. Me," she said looking at Mac and putting her hand on her chest, "I couldn't sleep with a handsome, willing and available man because I felt like I was cheating on Jack."

"Did Jack know?"

Phryne shook her head. "He felt my distance immediately. I could tell by his letters, which felt stilted and awkward, like he was going through the motions. I'm sure mine felt that way to him, too. He assumed I'd taken a lover, of course, and was pushing him away so he stopped writing eventually." She lent her head back. "I broke his heart. He was devastated and I let him suffer because I was too much of a coward to tell him that I was struggling with how much I missed him."

Mac clenched jaw as she looked at her friend blinking quickly to hold back her tears. She was angry at her for treating Jack like that, but she also felt for her; it would be hard to be so emotionally stunted. There was also no point in telling her how wrong her actions were, she knew.

"I hadn't spoken to him in months," Phryne continued, "and then suddenly there he was at the station."

"So why did your aunt send for him?"

Phryne groaned and rubbed her brow. "Bloody Aunt P! She knows him, of course, and thinks he's a good detective. And she knows we have worked together on cases. I was expecting a local policeman from Swan Hill, but she sneakily rang the deputy chief commissioner to request Jack."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "She went straight to the top, then." She put her glass on the table and reached for another cigarette. "Odd thing for your aunt to do.

Phryne sat up. "I thought so too. I know it sounds strange, but I think she was match-making."

Mac raised her eyebrows. "Jesus. That's a turn up for the books. Maybe the stroke was stronger than we all thought. When's she due back?"

"Frederick's funeral is today, so she's being driven back tomorrow. It was good to have her there, actually."

Mac nodded then lit her cigarette. She blew out the smoke as she tucked away the case and lighter. "Anyway, last I heard you were trying to sort it out with him, but you went quiet after that."

Phryne shrugged. "We were busy with the case." She looked at Mac and shook her head. "Terrible, terrible things are happening in this country, but that's a story for another time."

Mac nodded. "And you were busy with each other, I presume."

"Very busy. I had a cottage to myself, so ..."

Mac eyed her friend quietly. "So, let me get this straight … after a few days of being lovers, he asked you to marry him?" She flicked up her eyebrows. "I bet that shocked the pants off you. Or maybe they shocked them back on," she said with a smirk.

Phryne gave her a withering look. "It should have shocked me, but it didn't. He agreed to the transfer when I was still in England after I treated him so deplorably, so his move was always in the back of our minds. We agreed not to speak of it, though." Phryne stared down at the dregs of her drink as she rolled the glass in her hands. "It allowed us to focus on the time we had left together."

"So then what happened?"

"He always said he'd return to Melbourne to pack up his house after the case was closed." She shrugged. "When he was confident we knew who the killer was, he insisted we talk about us. I said I didn't want him to go, and he said there was only one reason he'd stay. I knew what that meant, although I didn't actually believe him. He could have pulled out of the transfer if he wanted to. Still could. But I'd hurt him so badly, I couldn't really blame him for wanting a commitment from me. And if he couldn't get that, he was prepared to move on. Literally."

Mac took a long drag and shook her head as she blew out the smoke. "What the hell was he thinking?"

Phryne frowned at her. "Don't judge him too harshly, Mac. It was a very intense time for us."

Mac raised her hands in surrender. "All right. I get it. Desperate measures for desperate times." She flicked the ash into the ashtray. "So, then what?"

Phryne looked at her. "We argued and he left in a huff. Then we had torrential rain and the property flooded so we were all forced into one room together."

Mac grunted. "Awkward."

Phryne nodded. "It certainly was." She blew out a breath at the memory of what happened next. "It's a long story, and I'll tell you one day, but we didn't have a chance to sort things out before he was … he was …"

Mac watched her press her hand to her mouth as she tried not to cry. Mac stubbed out her cigarette and sat next to her so she could put her arm around her shoulder and pull her close.

"Jack's very much alive and doing well, Phryne. I'm not so sure about you though."

"I'm all right, Mac," she said in a wavering voice. "Just terribly sad. I can't see a way forward for us and the thought of losing him …" She shook her head and turned to look at her. "I don't want to lose him, Mac."

Mac clicked her tongue in sympathy. She'd never seen her friend so distraught like this. "You can be together without marrying, you know."

Phryne rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. "It's marriage or nothing for Jack. And as much as I hate to admit it, he's right; how could we ever be together without marrying? It would cause a huge scandal. A senior public servant living in sin with a society strumpet." She shook her head. "It would ruin him. I would ruin him."

"Who said anything about living together? Besides, he's very good at what he does and is highly valued. Maybe his superiors would turn a blind eye to the gossip, if there even was any."

Phryne pursed her lips. "Oh Mac, his superiors are beholden to the most influential and conservative people in Melbourne. I would know, Aunt P is one of them. Would you be open about your relationship if you were in one, knowing what that would mean for your job?"

Mac scoffed. "My love is considered unnatural and perverse, Phryne. At least yours is seen as normal."

Phryne frowned and gave her head a small shake. "Normal? Marriage is considered normal. Not wanting to marry, having sexual relations out of wedlock, or, god forbid, wanting sex for pleasure are all still seen as unnatural and depraved, especially if it's women who want it."

Mac dismissed her argument with a wave of her hand. "Times are changing, Phryne. Just the other day the women's club was discussing the companionate marriage movement. Have you heard of it?"

Phryne rolled her eyes again and shook her head. "Of course I have and no, that's not going to happen here any time soon."

"It might. Everyone's talking about it. If a conservative divorce judge thinks the right thing to do is live together for a while before marrying, then surely others would also think it's acceptable. You could pretend to be engaged, announce you're advocates of companionate marriage but never marry. People would forget about it after a while. Why dismiss it so readily?"

Phryne frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, Mac. I read in the paper only yesterday that the judge who proposed it was beaten up outside his church by his brethren."

"Well, yes, he was, but we're a more accepting and heathen bunch over here than in America."

"I doubt that," Phryne said with a shake of her head. "And besides, this isn't just about marriage, Mac, unofficial or not."

"Then what's it about?"

Phryne spread her hands and shrugged. "Me. Jack wants commitment. I never wanted to commit to one person nor do I know if I could even do that. It's not how I see myself living my life."

"But you just told me you're in love with him."

Phryne slumped back against the cushions and sighed heavily. "That was my heart speaking, my weak, needy heart."

Mac clicked her tongue loudly. "Oh, for god's sake, Phryne, you have to stop thinking that loving someone is a weakness."

Phryne frowned. "Do I? Why do I? Love makes us do stupid things. Some will even kill for love. How is that not a weakness? I didn't like how I felt back in England and I sure as hell don't like how I'm feeling now." She blew out a breath. "I can see why they call it 'falling in love'. I feel like I've jumped from a plane in a never-ending skydive. No parachute, no safe landing, just the full force of gravity pulling me towards a messy ending."

Mac snorted out a laugh then hid her smirk as she took a sip of her drink.

Phryne frowned at her. "It's not funny, Mac."

Mac smiled. "I'm sorry, but it is a little bit. You'll take on gangsters, dodge knives and bullets, but a little love brings you to your knees."

"I don't expect you to understand," she said quietly. "I don't expect anyone to understand."

Mac watched Phryne purse her lips and slump back against the cushions. She crossed her legs and jiggled her foot in annoyance then looked away from her. "I'm sorry I laughed, Phryne. You're completely right. I don't understand. I'd almost give a limb to have an emotional connection with someone who I loved and trusted with my life. You have this, and I don't think you realise how lucky you are. Who else do you know that has that in their life? You have found someone you love who loves you back, adores you even, and you are going to throw it all away because you're scared of commitment."

Phryne took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "It's not that simple, Mac. I'd be terrible for him. We're so different; I'm hotheaded and impulsive and he's exactly the opposite. How could that possibly work?"

Mac held out her hands, palms up. "What happened to opposites attract? Jack sees something deeper in you than all your, shall I say, less desirable traits, Phryne. He's obviously not just in it for the sex, otherwise he would have taken up your unspoken offer long ago. He has seen you at your absolute, most impulsive, anarchistic worst. He has firsthand experience of your inability to deal with emotion and loving someone and yet he still loves you and wants to be with you. Warts and all, as they say. This is what I don't understand. You have found someone who truly loves and accepts you for who you are. What if this is your only chance at that kind of love?"

Phryne stood up and took a few steps away and then turned to her. "You're not listening to me, Mac. You're still assuming that having a romantic and emotional connection with someone is something everyone aspires to. What if I don't want that? Yes, what Jack and I have is special, I'll acknowledge that, but I only let it happen because I knew he was leaving for Geelong, so I—"

"Let yourself love him?" Mac interrupted. "Rubbish! You've loved him for a while now. You just don't want to admit it. Dive in and see where the current takes you. You could always swim back to shore if the sea gets too rough."

"And break his heart? I've already done that. I think it's less cruel to not get too involved in the first place."

"And yet he keeps coming back for more."

"Not any more. That's why he took the transfer and still insists on going."

Mac rolled her eyes. "For god's sake, Phryne, just do it, give it a chance. Sneak around for a bit, get engaged and make it a long one, be a trailblazer and lobby for acceptance of companionate marriage."

Phryne frowned. "You of all people should know that telling me what to do won't work."

Mac narrowed her eyes at her. "Well bad, luck!" She stabbed a finger in the air at her. "I'm not scared of you. And who else but your oldest and dearest friend to tell you that you are being a stubborn pain in the—"

"I get it, Mac," Phryne said tersely. "But I think you are wanting me to have what you want and can't have."

Mac crossed her arms in frustration and sighed. She pursed her lips and stared at the bookcase for a while. When she was calmer, she stood, grabbed their empty glasses and walked to the drinks table to fill them.

"Yes, there's a bit of that, I suppose," she said as she poured them a drink, "but I have known you for a long time Phryne, and I have never in that time seen you like this or met anyone more well suited to you than Jack. Yet, for some strange reason, you don't think you're worthy of his love." She passed Phryne her drink and returned to the armchair.

Phryne also sat down. She sipped her drink and was quiet for a while. "It's not that, Mac. I just think he deserves better. I know I just said I don't want to lose him, but a small part of me wants him to go to Geelong. He deserves to be loved unconditionally by someone who'll marry him and perhaps give him the family he so desperately wants."

Mac tutted impatiently. "Has he told you he so desperately wants this?"

Phryne narrowed her eyes at her. "Yes, he has, actually."

Mac rolled her eyes. "Pfft! He was lying. He wants you, not some woman he may or may not meet, who may or may not marry him and may or may not bear his children. He's already had an actual offer of marriage and he turned it down, remember? He loves you, Phryne," she said, lifting her finger from her glass to point at her. "You and you only. You might think you'll be terrible for him, but that's not your decision to make. If Jack is willing to give it a go knowing it may not work out for him, then that's his decision, not yours. He's in control of his feelings, not you. Stop worrying about him and think about what you want. We both know what he wants. What do you want?"

Phryne closed her eyes briefly and grunted. "That depends on which day you ask me."

"So today, here and now, what do you want?"

Phryne was quiet for a while. She sat with her elbow on the armrest and her head in her hand and jiggled her foot. A full minute passed before she spoke again. "Today I am devastated that he doesn't want to see me and I miss him terribly. I'm so stupidly forlorn that I can't even feel angry about what happened this morning." She buried her face in her hands and groaned. "It was so awkward."

Mac sat next to her and put her hand on her shoulder. "Phryne, listen to me, you felt strange in England because you missed him. Completely normal. You're suffering now because you love him and want to be with him. He's hurt and you've both been through a lot, so you want to care for him. Go to him, let him know—"

"He doesn't want to see me, Mac. He told me that. He said he'd say goodbye before he ..." Phryne shook her head and reached for her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. "Before he leaves."

Mac clicked her tongue and pulled her close for a hug. "Of course he would want to see you. He doesn't know what he's saying. He's had the wind knocked out of him lately. He's sore and also suffering terribly." She shook her head in frustration. "I don't believe he wants to move away, so go to him and give him a reason to stay. Ask him to be your beau."

Phryne balled her hands into fists and groaned in frustration. "He won't do it Mac! It's marriage or nothing."

Mac narrowed her eyes at her. "Poppycock! It's commitment he wants. So stop being so bloody pigheaded and give it to him. Tell him you want to be with him and him only. Step out together here in Melbourne and see how it goes. That is a perfectly reasonable thing to do and if you happen to have a little more fun on the side, then who will know? Take it slowly and see how it works. Take him travelling to places where you can be together and no-one will question the nature of your relationship. Don't squander the opportunity to be with someone you love who adores you while you are still young enough to enjoy it."

Phryne buried her face in her hands and was quiet.

Mac sighed and lit another cigarette. She smoked quietly while she watched her friend's breathing to make sure she was all right. Phryne sat up suddenly and reached for Mac's gasper. She took a long drag then tilted her head back to blow out the smoke. Mac shook her head. "I don't know how you can do that so often and not take up smoking again."

Phryne shrugged and looked at the cigarette before passing it back. "I can't commit," she said with a smirk.

Mac snorted and looked at Phryne, who was also chuckling. When they stopped laughing she said, "Promise me you will think about it and go and talk to him." She watched Phryne sober and purse her lips. She gave her arm a poke. "Since when have you ever done what Jack tells you to do? He knows damn well you're not going to do as he said. He's probably lying in bed hoping it's you every time the door opens. Will you promise me you'll talk to him?"

Phryne reached over to give her friend a hug. "Thank you. Mac. You mean the world to me, you know."

Phryne let go and they sat smiling at each other. "I know. Now stop changing the subject. Promise me?"

Phryne nodded. "I promise. I'll wait until he gets out of hospital though."

Mac grinned. "Right then," she said, eyeing the door. "I'm famished. She stood and held out her hand so she could pull Phryne up. "And you, sunshine, need to eat something too."

Mac pulled her up when Phryne nodded. They linked arms as they walked out of the parlour, their laughs loud in the hallway. Mac smiled to herself as they entered the kitchen, pleased she had convinced Phryne to go and see him. Now all she had to do was convince Jack to stay. She pursed her lips as she hatched a plan. Or at least delay his departure.

* * *

 _A/N: The "companionate marriage" story actually happened. In the late 1920s, a judge in the US, who was disturbed by the high divorce rates at the time (divorce was all the rage, apparently), suggested that engaged couples should live together first before marrying. The puritanical set were so enraged they beat him up as he was leaving church._


	23. Chapter 23

_For the Aunt P lovers out there, of whom I am one …._

 _Thanks everyone for your wonderful reviews._

* * *

Jack heard the squeak of his gate and froze. He closed his eyes and leant his head back. _Christ_ , he muttered. It had to be Phryne; he saw his family only yesterday. An authoritative knock resonated in his hallway just as he put down the pan he was struggling to wash. He bowed his head. He wasn't strong enough to see her quite yet. Blowing out a breath, he wiped his hands on a tea towel, bracing himself for yet another heart-wrenching exchange with her. He had about twenty steps to decide how to play it.

He whipped open the door, his furrowed brow lifting to a look of surprise when he saw Phryne's aunt standing before him.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to gape at me all day, Inspector, or may I come in?"

Her words were mocking, but he detected a softness to her tone. "Er, yes, of course," he said stiffly as he stepped back from the door and held his arm out. "I was expecting someone else. Please, come in."

"You were no doubt expecting my niece," she said as she stepped onto his threshold. "Phryne's unfit to leave her house, so I wouldn't worry about her appearing on your doorstep." She squeezed past him in his narrow hallway and stood just beyond the door, waiting for him to offer to take her coat.

Jack frowned as his eyes followed her in. "Is she unwell?" Good manners forgotten, he stood facing her to watch her expression as he pushed the door shut with his foot.

Mrs Stanley rolled her eyes theatrically. "Honestly Inspector, do I really have to spell it out for you?"

She started to shrug off her coat, prompting him to spring into action and assist her. Ignoring her remark, he placed her elegant jacket on a hook by the door, noting how shabby his now unused work coat looked in comparison.

Jack held out his arm to direct her into his small lounge room just beyond his bedroom at the front of the house, pleased he had tidied it earlier for something to do, not an easy task with one arm in a sling. He pondered her words as he followed her in and watched her expression remain neutral as she glanced around the room to take in his meagre but neat belongings.

"Please, have a seat," he offered, expecting her to curl her lip at his well-worn lounge, but she sat without further inspection, not even batting an eye at the groan in the springs as they struggled to stop her derrière touching the floor.

"May I offer you a whiskey, Mrs Stanley? It's all I have, I'm afraid."

She nodded. "Lovely. Thank you, Inspector."

"Neat?"

"Please."

Mrs Stanley removed her gloves as she looked at him standing at his modest credenza to pour the last of his whiskey with his one good arm. Despite looking tired, he stood tall and straight. His tousled hair hung in waves over his forehead, giving him the look of a much younger man. The only evidence of the trauma he had suffered was his arm in the sling that he wore over his clothing. Although casually dressed and a little dishevelled, she thought him handsome, if not a little leaner than she remembered. His broad shoulders filled what looked like a much-loved jumper, probably knitted by an adoring family member, or possibly his ex-wife. He even took the time to put on a shirt, somehow managing to tuck it in with one arm in a sling. That impressed her enormously until a thought entered her mind and she pulled back the corners of her mouth in concern. Maybe someone else had assisted him, tidied his house for him. Perhaps the lonely ex-wife was back on the scene ...

Jack handed her a glass before picking up his own. He stood a few steps away from her, cocked his head and raised an eyebrow just a little.

She ignored him and took a leisurely sip of her drink, humming in approval. "That's a very nice drop, Inspector," she murmured into the glass. She eventually looked up at him and sighed. "Are you going to stand there the whole time and lord it over me like that?"

"Yes, I am," he said calmly. He jutted his chin out in defiance and looked down his nose at her.

Mrs Stanley straightened a little and raised her eyebrows at his impertinence until she felt her features soften and a deep rumble in her chest emerged as a chuckle. She could see he was clearly surprised by this and saw the beginnings of a smirk.

"My dear Inspector," she said gently, "there's no need for suspicion. I am here to see how you are faring and to apologise for the role I played in your injury. Make the most of it, apologising is not something I do every day, I can assure you."

Jack nodded. "I see. So, am I wrong in assuming you are also here to manipulate me into doing something to make Phryne feel better?"

Mrs Stanley chuckled again. She always did like a self-assured, clever man. She was even more convinced he'd make be a suitable partner for her niece. "Please Inspector, if you will do me the courtesy of sitting and listening to what I have to say, all will be revealed."

Jack pursed his lips and bounced on the balls of his feet, a habit from his early days on the beat as a constable. "Very well." He took three slow steps to his reading chair on the opposite side of the small room, taking his time to sit and slowly twist so he could place his whiskey next to his letter opener, which still sat, barely used these days, on the small table next to his chair. He sat tall, laid his good arm protectively over the one in the sling and looked at her without expression.

Mrs Stanley marvelled at the calm authority that radiated from him and wondered how many criminals had crumpled under his intense and impassive gaze. She had expected him to be awkward around her, as he usually was, but she was wrong about that. With just a few gestures he had let her know she had entered his domain. This would, no doubt, be a most interesting discussion.

"As I was saying," she said gently, leaning forward slightly and alternating her gaze between his face and hands, "I am here to offer my sincere apology for dragging you into such a horrid mess. I am deeply ashamed at my behaviour. I meddled in the affairs of others and went over your head to get what I wanted." She hung her head in shame. "You very nearly died, Inspector…" She brought her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes briefly. She took in a deep breath to steady her voice. "As did Phryne, and I am entirely to blame." She paused to choose her words carefully. "Not only did you suffer an horrendous assault resulting in a terrible injury with a long and painful recovery ahead of you, but I also caused what I hope is not irreparable damage to your relationship with my niece." She became emotional again at the mention of Phryne and looked down at her drink. When she looked back at him, he was looking at her with raised eyebrows. "I would very much hope that you are able to forgive me." She hesitated and shifted in her seat. "And I'd like to offer you a small gift to help with your recovery."

Jack held her gaze and acknowledged her genuine remorse with a nod. "Why did you request that I assist with the case?"

Mrs Stanley was thrown by his question. She assumed he would thank her for her apology and want to know what she was offering, but she was grateful for the extra time to think about how to sell it to him, given his wary and guarded mood. She decided to butter him up a little first.

"Well," she said blinking rapidly and pausing to consider how to continue, "I know of your reputation as a sharp-minded detective, so of course I wanted the best. And we know you, Inspector, which always helps in difficult times, especially as whomever came to assist would be lodging with us at the homestead."

Jack nodded slowly, his expression unchanged. "Why didn't you tell Phryne you had sent for me?"

Mrs Stanley swallowed and averted her eyes from his steely gaze. She squirmed in her seat and took a slow sip of her whiskey to delay answering. She was being interrogated, something she wouldn't normally allow, but she deserved to feel a little discomfort after all she had put him through. Her eyes met his. "I wanted to surprise her. I felt guilty about dragging her away from her friends after being away for so long, and I know you two have developed a ... close relationship over the years, so I hoped she would be pleased to see you and could possibly assist you in finding who murdered that poor man. She seemed so terribly forlorn and bored at the homestead, and after fighting it for so long, I have had to admit she is quite good at that sort of business. Really, Inspector, was that such an awful thing to do?"

Jack raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Not really, no, but I believe there was another reason you requested my presence at the station."

Mrs Stanley wriggled in her seat again before sitting a little straighter. She was always going to talk about this, she had to for the offer to make sense, but was hoping to ease her way into a potentially awkward conversation. She sighed, may as well come out with it.

"Yes, there was," she replied, pointing her chin up defensively before looking down at her hands. "What I said is all true, Inspector, but yes, I had an ulterior motive." She lifted her eyes to his. He was sitting upright in his chair, patiently waiting for her to continue. She looked down at her drink, pursed her lips and was quiet for a while, unsure of how to start.

"As you know," she said quietly, "I had a little stroke recently." She flicked her eyes up at him but his expression was unchanged. "It gave me a terrible fright, but in some way was a blessing. Yes, it increases my chance of having another more lethal stroke, but I believe it changed me for the better. My focus now is on doing what I love and want to do, not what I am expected to do. I have resigned from most of the boards I am on and will only be involved in those causes I truly believe in, not those that allow me to exercise power simply because I am wealthy." She waved her hand dismissively. "I have no stomach for those games any more. Anyway, that's all by the by, family is what really matters to me now. With Arthur gone, my main interest is Phryne. And Jane, of course." Her expression softened and she smiled. "Darling Jane!" she said proudly. "You could say their happiness is my cause now." She paused to take a sip of her whiskey then raised her hand. "Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking, Inspector," she said quickly when she saw him frown in confusion, "I still have a son." She paused and blew out a breath. "But to brutally honest, and this is not something I have admitted before …," she took a deep breath and met his eye, "I love Phryne more." She stared out the window next to the credenza. "Such a free-spirited child." She turned to look at Jack again. "She's had a very difficult life, emotionally speaking, as I'm sure you know, and I want nothing but the best for her." She paused and watched him nod in understanding then locked eyes with him. "And what better thing in life is there but love?"

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. He wanted the truth, but he didn't expect such candour.

"I thought I could play Cupid, Inspector," she said, nodding slowly and avoiding his eye. "That's why I asked for you. You don't get to be my age without learning a thing or two about people, and love, and I have watched you two grow close over the last couple of years. At first, as you no doubt suspected, I was mortified. My darling niece, a beautiful, clever and wealthy woman who could have had anyone she wanted, falling for a policeman! You can imagine my discomfort." She chuckled and flicked her eyes up at him, her good humour fading quickly when she saw his narrowed eyes and set jaw. "Forgive me, Inspector," she said gently, "I didn't mean to be rude. I am not proud of myself for feeling that way, quite the opposite actually." She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "What a frightful snob I was. But now, when I see you two together, I see two people who care for each other deeply and are eminently suited to one another. Two people I now believe are meant to be together." She watched him frown and press his lips together. "Do you believe in fate, Inspector?"

Jack quirked an eyebrow and huffed out a wry laugh. "Do I believe that all we do in life is predetermined? No, I do not," he said, rolling his eyes. "Nor do I believe that people are meant to be together."

Mrs Stanley chuckled. "Then we will have to agree to disagree on that one, Inspector. Although, I see you know your mind," she said, seeking some common ground, "at least we have that in common. Well, that and loving my niece." She smiled to herself as she watched his stern expression soften at the mention of loving Phryne. She had found the chink in his armour. He turned his head to look at his whiskey that sat untouched on the table. She was quiet while she waited for him to deny it, but he didn't. How could he?

"I suppose what I am trying to say," she continued, "is that I thought if I brought you two together after so long apart, away from the distraction and busyness of your lives, you would see how much you meant to each other and perhaps formalise your relationship." She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Of course I didn't know you were essentially estranged, how could I possibly have known that? But then you seemed to sort it out, and now here you are not talking again." She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "Honestly," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "it's very hard to keep track of whether you two are getting on or not." She swallowed her chuckle as she watched Jack purse his lips and stare at his hands in his lap. He was clearly not in the mood for humour.

"I know my niece very well," she said, more serious now. "I certainly haven't been privy to all her ... romances," she said with a look of distaste, "but from conversations I have had with her and her mother over the years, I suspect she hasn't felt this way about anyone in a very long time." She paused and leant forward. "She's in love with you, Inspector, and that is not something I would ever accuse one of being without truly believing it to be so. And correct me if I am wrong, but I believe the feeling is mutual." She paused to watch him bow his head and work his jaw. She suspected he was deciding whether or not to ask her to leave.

After a while he raised his head to look at her. Although he tried to remain expressionless, his eyes betrayed the immense sadness he felt at her words. "With respect, Mrs Stanley," he said slowly and quietly, "what you believe has no bearing on our situation. It is, as I'm sure you understand, complicated."

"I am well aware of that, Inspector," she said, thankful he was still willing to engage with her. "And believe me, I don't normally meddle in matters of the heart, but I feel I must do something as my actions have caused damage to two people whom I strongly believe belong together."

Jack snorted. "Belong together? What do you suggest," he asked snidely, "that we should just put aside all our differences to marry and live happily ever after because you think we are meant to be?" He stared at her. "Fairy-tale endings are for children, Mrs Stanley. Phryne doesn't belong to anyone. Never has and never will."

She didn't react defensively to his caustic retort; she understood it, the poor man was hurting deeply. "I'm not talking about ownership," she said gently, "one would have to be daft to believe Phryne would ever take on the role of subservient wife. I'm talking about suitability. You know her, Inspector. You know her troubled past and how difficult she can be. You understand why she does what she does and that she won't change who she is, but you love her anyway. How many men would allow their wives to carry on as she does?"

Jack held up his hand to stop her talking further. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "Please, with respect Mrs Stanley, there's no point to this discussion. You're not responsible for our estrangement. As you know, it existed before I came to assist with the case. You are wasting your time talking to me about this; we cannot be. Besides, I'm not the one who needs convincing. Phryne will never settle down with anyone."

Mrs Stanley raised her eyebrows. "Well, I'm not so sure about that, Inspector. I will also talk to Phryne, of course, but I thought I would start with you and work my way up to her. Believe me, she is the most difficult and stubborn person I know. And I would know," she said emphatically, widening her eyes and staring at him, "she takes after me after all." She took a deep breath and paused before continuing. "All I want is for Phryne to be happy and loved. Losing a much-loved sister and ally was such a terrible, heartbreaking tragedy." She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "She suffered such terrible sadness and guilt, which she's carried with her all these years because she will always believe she is to blame."

She stared out the window and was quiet for a while as she struggled with the memories of Janey's disappearance, then sighed and looked back at Jack. "For all her bravado and posturing, she has, as I suspect you already know, a deeply vulnerable side." She nodded slowly. "Anyone who doesn't know her as you and I do would never suspect that. She has worked hard to shake off her deep introspection and gain control of her sadness and has done admirably to get where she is today. But the damage was done, Inspector," she said looking at him again. "She is overly cautious now, frightened of loving and losing again, frightened of sadness taking control of her life again. And perhaps she is frightened of causing sadness in others."

She had watched him as she spoke to gauge his reaction to her words. His rigid body had slowly softened until he sat slumped in his chair with his elbow on the armrest and his forehead in his hand.

"But true love is hard to fight, Inspector," she continued. "I suspected for a long time that you were falling for each other, possibly without even knowing it. When I saw you together at Mrs Morecroft's party, I realised I was right, and that I was also right in bringing you together again." She took a deep breath and paused to steady her voice. "She is the most brilliant, kind, and complicated person I know, and she deserves to be loved for those qualities, not because she is beautiful and wealthy. Don't you agree?"

Jack had listened to her words with his eyes shut to help control his emotion. Although he was sure she hadn't intended it, her question deeply saddened him. He drew down the corners of his mouth and nodded slowly, taking his time before looking up at her. "I do."

She was moved by his sadness, but she pressed on anyway. "Well … this brings me to the gift I spoke about earlier."

Jack took in a deep breath and rubbed his brow. He sat up and nodded, lifting his eyes to hers. He may as well hear her out now.

Mrs Stanley gave him a small smile of relief; she feared she was losing him. "After all I have said, I admit I'm not sorry that you cannot take up your new post in Geelong; South Melbourne needs you, Inspector." Jack clicked his tongue softly but she ignored him and pressed on. "And it allows you some time to sort out your issues with Phryne."

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Again, with respect Mrs Stanley, I have signed a transfer agreement and will be moving to Geelong in a few weeks or so when I have regained the full use of my shoulder. Nothing will change that. I appreciate your romantic notions that your niece and I may one day marry, but there's not a hope in hell of that happening. And as much as it pains me, I've accepted that now. Geelong is a chance for me to start over." His expression softened and he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "I need to go."

Mrs Stanley's heart ached for him and she waited a few moments before speaking to make sure he had finished. "Nobody said anything about marriage, Inspector. I think we both know that would never happen."

Jack jerked his head up and frowned. "If you're not trying to convince us to marry, then why are you here?"

She hesitated, "Well … after my stroke, I had an epiphany that challenged my deeply entrenched, conservative views of love and marriage." She widened her eyes for emphasis. "Believe me, Inspector, when one has an epiphany, one is compelled to act on it. So, here I am, after much deliberation, with an offer of what may be, at the very least, a short-term solution to your troubles. Please hear me out," she added quickly with a raised hand after seeing him shake his head. "Given we are now speaking frankly, I won't insult your intelligence by pretending I'm not also seeking to lessen the burden of guilt I carry for the physical and emotional damage I've caused to you both. I know Phryne has offered to care for you, which you refused, and you since you have also refused my offer of a private nurse and maid, I have one last offer. It's a small gift, in the scheme of things, but one that may be life-changing for you and may help with your healing, and I don't just mean your shoulder. All I ask of you now is that you hear me out and give my proposal serious consideration."

Jack closed his eyes and let out a breath slowly. He worked his jaw and stared at his hands while he pondered her words. He looked at her sitting opposite with him with her eyebrows raised in anticipation of an answer. Although tired, sore and feeling very emotional, he was also intrigued. He nodded. "All right, Mrs Stanley. Let's hear it."


	24. Chapter 24

_Hello lovely readers. This is either the penultimate chapter or there will be two more - I haven't made up my mind yet. At any rate, we are definitely at the end of the story._

 _Thanks for your lovely reviews of the last chapter. It's good to see there are so many Aunt P fans among us. And a special thank you to A.L. Your review was everything. x  
_

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"You what?" Phryne glared at her aunt. "How could you, Aunt P!" She threw her hands in the air then turned from her to walk to the window of her parlour. When she got there, she twisted to face her. "You went there to apologise about meddling and meddled further!"

Her aunt clicked her tongue. "Really, Phryne!" She walked to her. "Don't be so ungracious. I didn't go there to meddle. I apologised and offered the Inspector a gift, one I have also offered to you. How is that meddling?"

Phryne narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "You are still trying to engineer our relationship! It won't work, Aunt P, we're damaged people with complicated feelings and troubled pasts." She huffed and turned to look out the window, folding her arms tightly across her chest. After a few moments she turned back to her. "Well," she said, widening her eyes, "what did he say?"

"Not much really," her aunt murmured as she gazed out the window.

Phryne narrowed her eyes again. Her aunt was good at many things, but fibbing wasn't one of them. There was something she wasn't telling her, most likely that he considered his move to Geelong a _fait accompli_.

Her aunt stood straight and stuck her chin out. "He just let me talk, mostly. He's a very good listener, and quite the interrogator," she said, turning to look at her with wide eyes. "He didn't say no though, my dear."

Phryne pursed her lips. "Well, you've wasted your time. He would never agree to that." She walked to her chaise and sat heavily, then leant forward to put her elbows on her knees so she put her head in her hands. "He probably thinks I put you up to it."

Her aunt sat down next to her. "He thought no such thing, my dear. I didn't mince words, he knew exactly what I was proposing and why."

Phryne sat up and sighed. "Thank you for your generous offer, Aunt P, I know you are trying to help, but I will decline on behalf of both of us. Our situation is irremediable."

Her aunt scoffed. "What rot! You were as thick as thieves at the station after whatever it was that happened when you were in England. You repaired the damage before, why can't you now?"

Phryne scowled at her. She pressed her lips together and shook her head slowly. "I seem to remember you lecturing me on the importance of being true to oneself. You know I'm not the type to settle down, Aunt P, yet now you are telling me to throw my convictions out the window. Which is it?"

Phryne's aunt sat upright and raised her eyebrows. "In this case, my dear, it's both. Your convictions, as you call them, are ridiculous. I can see that you love him, and he, of course, loves you. Surely that's reason enough to keep trying."

"Love!" she said, rolling her eyes. "No, it's not reason enough. Love is fleeting: intense one minute and gone the next. Who hasn't loved someone completely only to hate them after they feel wronged in some way. The kind of heart-thumping love one feels initially is unsustainable. No-one feels that forever. Look at the current divorce rate."

Phryne heard her aunt chuckle and turned to frown at her. "It's not funny, Aunt P!"

"You have a lot to learn about love, my dear. And the Inspector, I believe, would make an excellent instructor."

Phryne shook her head angrily as she squirmed in her seat. She was uncomfortable talking with her aunt about her relations with Jack, and also tired of everyone telling her what she should do.

"Why not?" her aunt continued. "Quite frankly, I've never known you to be so tentative. I'm astonished that you are giving in so readily. That's not like you at all, my dear. There's still time to patch things up, he's here for another few weeks at least."

Phryne gave her head a small shake. "He's moving to Geelong, Aunt P, as I'm sure he told you, so what's the point? Besides, we only became friendly again because he was leaving and we were working the case together." She wasn't about to explain the full extent of their relationship at the station.

Her aunt rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue loudly. "I wasn't born yesterday, Phryne." She flared her eyes at her. "You were clearly more than just friends. That would have shocked me a short time ago. I'm still getting used to the idea, but I accept that some couples do that sort of thing before marriage nowadays."

Phryne buried her face in her hands and blushed a deep crimson, but her aunt pressed on.

"I've also come to realise that relations between people is none of my business."

Phryne let out a long moan and rubbed her face before turning to her. "Yet here you are telling me what I should do. There will be no marriage, Aunt P. Not ever." She flopped back heavily against the cushions. "What a mess!"

Her aunt patted her knee. "I know that dear. Go and talk to him. He let me in, so he's not going to say no to you. And if he doesn't want to talk, then you can use it as a chance to say a proper goodbye. Don't let him leave without saying what you want to say to him, Phryne. You will forever regret it."

-o0o-

Phryne clenched and unclenched her hands as she stood on the street in the dull light of evening and stared at the door of his single-story terrace. She puffed out a breath in exasperation and turned to walk away when the door opened quickly and Jack stepped onto the porch. She turned to him and froze. He was dressed only in trousers, a white undershirt and braces, his arm still in the sling. No shoes, no slicked-back hair, no expression. The light from the hallway behind him had darkened his features into a silhouette, making it difficult for her to gauge his mood. She opened her mouth to say something but only managed a strangled grunt.

He stepped off the porch and walked to the gate. The light from the street lamps slowly exposed his concerned expression. "Why are you standing in the middle of the street?" he whispered.

Phryne shrugged and raised her arms, palms up. She let them drop against her thighs as she struggled with the right words. How did she of all people become so reticent? "I was unsure whether to knock," she managed at last.

"Well, unless you want Mrs Doherty's opinion on that," he said gently, tilting his head towards the house next door, "I suggest you come in." He opened the gate and scanned the street while he waited for her to walk inside.

Phryne moved briskly to the gate. She avoided his eye as she walked past him, twisting slightly to make sure she didn't brush against him on his narrow path. Once in his hallway, she turned, wringing her hands anxiously as she watched him walk towards her, his eyes never leaving her face. He closed the door gently, taking a moment before turning slowly to face her.

He looked at her quietly, presumably waiting for her to explain why she was there. When she didn't say anything, he extended his hand to her. "Can I take your coat?"

Phryne blinked quickly a few times. "Yes ... er … actually, no," she said, gesturing at his arm in the sling. "I mean, no need. I can manage." She lifted the lapels to take it off just as he took a step towards her.

"Allow me."

He would hate being treated differently because of his injury. She nodded and turned her back to him.

His sudden warm breath on the back of her neck gave her goosebumps. She closed her eyes and tried to push aside memories of his body curved around hers after lovemaking, one arm under her head, the other wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in her hair, warm puffs of breath on her neck. She shivered as she slid the coat off a little to make it easier for him to remove with one hand. He stepped closer than necessary and tugged gently, stopping to take in a slow and deep breath, quietly filling his lungs with her as the coat slid from her body.

When he'd pulled the coat free, she turned to him and took a step back to maintain a respectable distance. Their eyes locked for a few moments before he moved away to hang her coat on a hook by the door. She wanted to look away, but her eyes followed his every move. Her heart broke as he took a small step back to briefly take in their coats hanging side by side for the first time in his hallway, his home. He pushed his unkempt hair off his forehead and turned to see her watching him. She flicked her eyes to the coats and then back to him to let him know she knew what he was thinking, then smiled. He smiled back as he held out his arm to direct her into his lounge room. She walked in ahead of him and sat uninvited on the spot her aunt occupied the day before.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked as he walked past her towards his credenza. "I have almost everything you can imagine thanks to a delivery this morning from an unknown admirer." He turned his head to give her a quick smile. "I've written a thank you note. Would you mind delivering it to your aunt for me?"

Phryne smiled and nodded as she let out the breath she was holding. He seemed relaxed and in a good mood. "I will. And yes, a whiskey please." She immediately regretted her choice and squeezed her eyes shut, giving her head a few small shakes at her faux pas. She had chosen that drink, their drink, out of habit. "She feels terrible, you know," she added to quickly to change the subject.

"So she said," he murmured without looking at her.

She watched him for a moment as he placed the bottle between his thighs to pull out the cork, thankful he stood with his back to her. It was painful to look at him, not just because of his injury and the memories of their ordeal, but because her heart still ached for him, so much so that she struggled to breathe when she saw him step onto his porch. Her head knew she needed to let him go, but her body still desperately wanted him. Her skin tingled into goose bumps again as she remembered their lovemaking. She folded her arms and shivered, quickly looking around his small living room to distract herself.

It was cosy, charming, just what she thought it would look like: neat and sparsely furnished with tasteful, utilitarian pieces. A stack of books, their spines marked with numbers sat illuminated by the lamp above on a small table next to a reading chair opposite her. The one on top had a bookmark about a third of the way through. She leant forward and craned her neck to read the title. Her eyes widened and her heart beat a little faster. Surely not! She managed to lean back and gather her wits just as Jack turned around with her drink. He took a few steps to pass her a glass before collecting his. To her surprise, he sat on the lounge; she had expected him to return to his reading chair to put some distance between them. He nestled into the corner and twisted his body to face her. He seemed at ease, like he had finally come to terms with his decision to move away from her.

Phryne held her whiskey with both hands to warm it. Her heart was still thumping in her chest after seeing what he was reading, but she told herself not to get her hopes up. Her eyes met his. She gave him a small smile before flicking them down to his drink. "Off the whiskey again?"

Jack looked at his glass and gave a small shrug. "Not in the mood."

She nodded. "Of course not." Awkward small talk out of the way, she delicately cleared her throat and swallowed. "I've come to apologise for my aunt yet again meddling in your affairs." She watched a smile appear on his face. Perhaps her aunt had a similar opening. "I'm sorry if—"

"Don't worry about it, Phryne," he said quickly. "I was impressed with what she had to say."

She widened her eyes and leant towards him. "Her idea for us?" she asked hopefully.

Jack looked down at his drink and pursed his lips. "No, not that so much." He paused then looked up at her. "Her acknowledgement of her wrongdoings and the effect it had on me. Well, us really. It was good of her to admit that."

Phryne looked at her drink again and nodded. "Yes, it was." Her voice was soft and hoarse and she was shocked at how disappointed she was. She took a sip of her drink but just couldn't stomach it; she wasn't in the mood for whiskey either. After placing the glass on the coffee table in front of them, she angled her body to face him. Their legs were close enough for her to feel the heat from his knees. She took a deep breath to help calm herself so her voice wouldn't betray her emotions. "How are you feeling?"

Jack looked at her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. He was reading her.

"Physically?"

She nodded. "And otherwise."

He pressed his lips together. "I'm fine."

"Fine?"

He shrugged his left shoulder. "I'm still sore, but not like I was in the hospital." He puffed out a breath. "About that …" He paused. "I'm sorry for the way our conversation ended. It was so awkward with the nurse there and I—"

"Jack," she blurted. "There's no need to apologise. I understand."

He smiled at her and nodded. "Hard to believe that was almost two weeks ago."

Two weeks? It felt like an eternity to Phryne. She nodded and gave him a strained smile. "How are you managing? You look leaner than usual. Are you eating properly?"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm eating properly. It takes me longer to do everything, but time is something I have a lot of. I'm eating out more than usual, though."

Not Italian, she hoped.

He looked at her intensely again. "And you? You look a little leaner too."

Phryne attempted another smile but it faded too quickly to be genuine. "I'm fine too, I suppose." She blinked slowly as she wondered how much to tell him. "I'd be better if it weren't for the dreams."

Jack placed his drink on the table then leant over to give her hand a squeeze. To her surprise, he left it there.

"That's normal after trauma, Phryne, as you no doubt know." He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm having them too. They'll pass."

Phryne slid her other hand over his and looked up at him to see his breathing quicken. He quickly looked away and blinked slowly, gently sliding his hand out from underneath hers. She looked down at her lap. After a short while she lifted her eyes to see him looking at her again. She wasn't feeling awkward, just terribly sad. She took a deep breath. "I thought you might also like to know what's happening with the case."

Jack raised his eyebrows and shifted in his seat. "I do."

"They found Florence."

"Oh?"

"Yes, the day before yesterday. She was caught stealing food in …," she frowned. "I've forgotten the name of the town. Somewhere near Dubbo."

Jack put his fingers to his lips and looked to the ceiling. "A town near Dubbo, you say. Hmm. Terramungamine?"

Phryne clicked her tongue and narrowed her eyes at him playfully. She watched his smile widen and couldn't help but grin back. It was good to see him smile like that again. "So, O'Sullivan's been in touch then."

Jack nodded, still smirking. "Yes, he has. Quite a bit actually. He's been trying to convince me to take a position that's opened up in Echuca." He huffed out a small laugh. "Thinks my experience in the Murray would give me the edge over other candidates."

Phryne tried not to show her distress at the thought of him moving, Geelong or otherwise, let alone the mention of his time in the river. She forced a smile. "He's a wag, that's for sure. Why not tell me you knew?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to hear your version of events."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Well then, what do you think of her confession?"

Jack turned down the corners of his mouth and tilted his head. "I'm inclined to believe her."

Phryne nodded. "As am I. But if she only killed Walsh, who do you think killed the others?"

"Who do _you_ think killed them?" He sat back against the cushions and raised his eyebrows.

She smiled. For a brief moment she let herself pretend they were partners again, even if it was only as detectives. "I assume Inspector O'Sullivan told you about the pistol."

"The late Mr Morecroft's pistol? Yes, he did."

"He bequeathed it to Frederick, Cornelia told me. So, either Frederick killed them, or someone took his gun after killing him and shot the others."

Jack pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "If he did kill them, what was his motive?"

"Self defence, perhaps." She shrugged. "Or maybe he was trying to protect his family, or Millie, given he believed she was his daughter. Well, I assume he believed that."

Jack grunted his agreement. "Yet Frederick was killed by a gun that wasn't found at the scene."

Phryne nodded. "Yes, that is a mystery. Perhaps it was pulled by the river out to sea." They looked at each other without talking for a few moments. "I know what you're thinking, Jack."

He gave her a small smile. "I'm sure you do. And I believe I know what you're thinking."

"Yes, well. They've corroborated each other's stories, as you would know."

"Yep. No gun found on the station that matches the bullet, either."

Phryne sighed. "Well, I don't think the butcher could do it, despite his profession. He seemed a gentle soul. I know you never quite trusted Harry, but do you think he'd be capable of murder?"

"He's an angry young man who hated his father. He also carried the terrible injustice shown towards his people on his shoulders. But murder?" Jack pursed his lips then shrugged. "I guess we'll never know."

They looked at each other in silence for a few moments.

"How's Millie?" Jack asked, breaking the pull of their gaze. "I haven't heard how she is."

Phryne managed a small smile, pleased he'd changed the subject. "Millie's doing well. She now knows she's family at least." Phryne flicked up her eyebrows and blew out a breath. "Part of Harry's family at any rate. I never told anyone what Wright said, so Cornelia still believes she is her grandmother."

Jack shrugged. "She might be. Anyway, family's not limited to blood relations. Who her father actually was doesn't really matter now. It's the connections that are important."

Phryne smiled at him fondly; he was so perceptive and wise. She wondered if he ever thought of her as family. "Perhaps. I suppose that depends on the importance one places on ancestry. At least she knows who her mother was. Anyway, she is doing well, which is all that matters." She sat up a little straighter. "You might also be interested to know that Aunt P is gathering donations to start a local school for Aboriginal children. A school run by women, I might add. She and Cornelia are working with Tom Shanahan from the—"

"Australian Aborigines Progressive Association. I remember."

"That's right. He's thrilled and helping them find the right people to be involved, including his wealthy supporters."

Jack smiled. "I'm very pleased to hear that. That certainly sounds like the kind of good cause your aunt could get behind."

Phryne raised her eyebrows and smiled. She'd give almost anything to know what they talked about yesterday. "The other good news is that Aunt P and I have started to lobby all those dreary, wealthy and influential people we know. We're determined to change the laws governing the removal of Aboriginal children from their families."

Jack's grinned at her. "That's wonderful, Phryne!" He reached out to give her hand a squeeze. "This is what you do best."

She smiled at him, more pleased he approved than she should be.

Jack smiled at her and gave his head a small shake. "I'm very proud of you."

She grinned at him then pressed her lips together when she felt her chin start to quiver. They gazed at each other, his hand still on hers, until she felt the need to look away. She bit her bottom lip as she thought about her other news. When she looked at him, he was looking at her intensely. Worry had furrowed his brow.

"Phryne?" he said, giving her hand a quick shake.

She looked down at his hand on hers and put her other hand on top. "There's something else." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She glanced up at him. He was still frowning.

"Go on."

"I'm also here to say goodbye."

Jack shook his head. "Now? But I'll be here another few weeks or so."

Phryne took a deep breath. "I've decided to return to England."

Jack sucked in a breath and sat straight. "What? Why?" He stared at her. When she didn't answer he frowned and shook his head. "No Phryne, this is your home."

Phryne blinked back tears. "This is your home too, Jack. If I go, then you can stay. It's not too late to cancel your transfer, I know it's not." She looked at him staring at her with his mouth open. "I can't bear the thought of you moving away because of me. If I leave, you don't have to. Don't you see?"

Jack frowned and shook his head. He looked like he'd been slapped.

"I've already bought the ticket," she said before he could ask.

"I see." He turned from her and leant forward to rest his elbow on his thighs then rubbed his brow. "When?"

"Tomorrow fortnight." She watched him blink rapidly as he took in her news. She leant forward and put her hand on his knee. "Isn't this what you wanted? To not see me, to know I wouldn't turn up in your office? You have family here, Jack. The force needs you. Melbourne needs you. Hugh needs you. Can you honestly say to me that you really wanted to move to Geelong?"

Phryne removed her hand and watched him stare at the lamp opposite as he worked his jaw. After a short while he turned to her.

"You're needed here too, Phryne. Dot, your aunt, Mac. And yes, Melbourne needs you too. How many influential and wealthy people do you know who have a passion for social justice? I know of one. You. Please don't do this. What about your lobbying?"

Phryne looked down at her hands in her lap and was quiet for a while. "Aunt P will continue with that."

Jack ran his hand though his hair and sighed. He shook his head and looked at her.

"I read your letter this morning," she said quickly before he could speak.

He sat up and twisted to face her again. "This morning? I sent that almost three weeks ago."

She nodded. "There was a large pile of mail when I returned from the station. Bills and invitations, I assumed." She waved her hand dismissively. "I can't face anyone at the moment so I ignored them and, it seems, your letter." She watched him slump back against the lounge and bow his head. "I discovered it propped up on the hall stand after I returned home from a walk on the beach this morning. Mr Butler must have pulled it from the pile and placed it there so I would see it." She huffed out a small laugh. "More meddling, I'm afraid. He was quite shocked and saddened when I told him you would be moving away." Jack looked at her. She took a deep breath before continuing. "He hasn't been his usually chirpy self since." He looked away from her again and stared into his lap. "I think he's quite fond of you," she said quietly, her voice wavering with emotion. When he turned to her, she attempted a smile, but her lower lip and chin had started to quiver. "It seems we're all quite fond of you."

"Oh, Phryne." He slid along the lounge to hold her hand.

She closed her eyes briefly to help control her emotion and focus on the caress of his thumb, then looked at him, not caring that her eyes were now brimming with tears. "Your letter hit me very hard, as it should have."

Jack shook his head. 'That letter's irrelevant, Phryne. I wrote it before I knew what was going on with you."

"No, it's very relevant, Jack. I hurt you very badly, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for every awful thing I've ever done to you, but mostly for what I did in England." She huffed out a breath and nodded. "I won't ever forgive myself for treating you so badly." She shook her head. "Ever."

Jack frowned. "Stop it, Phryne. You can't think like that."

"But I do. I have left a long line of broken hearts, most of whom I don't give a second thought to, but doing it to you? That's unforgivable."

"I don't accept that," he said gently. "I forgive you. I do."

"I don't deserve your kindness or forgiveness." She frowned and shook her head. "Look what I've done, Jack!" She angrily wiped a tear from her cheek. "I've pushed you away from your home, your family and friends, and the job you love."

Jack put his hand on her cheek to soothe her. He wiped away a tear with his thumb and leant closer. "Listen to me, Phryne. Moving away was my decision. I played a part in this too, remember. I let myself fall for you. I let myself believe there was hope for us. I am responsible for my feelings and actions, not you. Yes, I was hurt, but I understand why you did what you did now." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Stay and live your life like before. Please. I want you to."

She shook her head. "How could I? I don't want to be here if you're not. I will always be reminded of you."

Jack clicked his tongue. "Maybe at first, but that will change after a while. You'll be fine Phryne, we both know that. You'll be back to your usual self in no time."

Phryne frowned. "No, I won't. How can you say that?"

"Yes, you will," he said emphatically, giving her hand a squeeze. "It may take a little time but you will, I know you will."

Phryne kept shaking her head. "No, Jack. Never! You may forgive me, but I won't."

Jack tutted softly. "You'll have to, Phryne. You can't keep punishing yourself. I won't let you."

She smiled at him sadly and put her hand on his again. "Hard to do from half a world away." She looked down at their entwined hands. "They're my demons, not yours."

Jack nodded slowly and sighed. "You are your own worst enemy, you know that, don't you. And you're underestimating the part I played in this. I instigated what happened between us at the station, so I should apologise for suggesting you to take me to your bed." He paused. "But I've had quite a lot of time to think about that and I'm not sorry I did."

Phryne wiped her cheeks and waited for him to continue. Jack reached for his handkerchief in his pocket and passed it to her.

"I used to think the pain of loneliness was easier to bear than the pain of loving and losing someone again," he continued. "So after Rosie left, I stopped hoping I'd find someone to love." He gave her a lopsided smile. "And then you came along. Unobtainable you," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. He brushed away a strand of hair that was stuck to her cheek then held her hand again. "I've loved you for a while now, Phryne, but I knew early on I'd never be able to …" He paused, trying to find the right word before huffing out a laugh. "I've only just realised how the language of love can be so possessive." He looked to the ceiling. "Have you, steal you away, capture your heart, claim you as mine," he looked at her, "take you as my wife. I would never have thought about that if it weren't for you." He shrugged. "Anyway, I always knew I'd never be able to share my life with you." He gave her a quick smile and watched her smile back. "I should have avoided you, but I couldn't. And I don't just mean I couldn't because you always turned up at my crime scenes."

"Our crime scenes, Jack," she teased, sliding her fingers between his.

He gave her an exaggerated eye roll. "All right then, our crime scenes. I couldn't avoid you because I was physically incapable of doing so. I was like a hapless moth to your flame. I'd never been so drawn to anyone as I was to you, so I gave in to urges that I'd suppressed for years when I kissed you at the airfield. I made that decision. I also decided to go to your bed." They smiled shyly at each other as they remembered their love making. "So no, you can't blame yourself for where we are now. He looked down at her caressing his hand. "And I don't regret what happened between us at the station. It was wonderful to be intimate with you like that. I didn't imagine it could be so special."

He looked away and tried to blink away his sadness. "How could I ever be angry with you when you helped me realise I could love again." His voice started to waver. "I will always be grateful for that." He looked at her crying freely now and clicked his tongue sadly. "Phryne," he said gently. He took the handkerchief from her hand to wipe her cheeks. "I'd normally say please don't cry, but you never do as I ask."

Phryne reached up and cupped his jaw with both hands so she could lean into him. She shook her head. "Please don't go," she whispered. He shut his eyes and leant in to her until their foreheads were touching. Phryne slid her hand to the back of his neck to hold him close. "Why are we doing this when we still care for each other so much?"

Jack gently drew away from her and sat up. "Because I need to move on from you now."

Phryne closed her eyes tightly to try and control her emotions but failed and sucked in a sob. "Yes, you do." She wiped her eyes. "I should go and let you be." She gazed at him one last time before grabbing her bag and standing. She walked quickly into the hallway and paused by the coat rack by the door. When Jack caught up with her, she had placed her bag on the floor and had one hand on her coat. She had frozen, as if she didn't quite know what to do.

"Phryne?"

She shook her head and turned away from him so she was facing his bedroom. She stood there for a while then straightened and took a deep breath. All she had to do was turn around and say goodbye, grab her coat and walk out the door but she couldn't. She pushed open his door instead and walked slowly into his bedroom.

She could hear Jack let out a long, slow breath. Was he relieved or frustrated? She stood by the bay window and looked onto the small, leafy garden that was illuminated by the street lamps. Standing in the darkness of his bedroom and looking at his garden calmed her. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath before turning to face him. "You're a talented gardener."

He leant against the door frame and put his hand in his pocket. His features were darkened by the hall light behind him. "What makes you so sure I'm the gardener?"

She smiled, pleased he wasn't mad at her for stalling. "Occasional dirty fingernails."

Jack let out a small laugh. "You always did have an eye for detail. Yes, I planted out the garden."

She stayed smiling. They never really talked about hobbies. How could she love him so much and know so little about him? She wondered what else there was to learn about him. She turned from the window and looked at his unmade bed, staring at it for a while, lost in thought.

She spoke after almost half a minute of silence. "I used to imagine sneaking over to your house to spend the night with you after doing whatever it was I was up to." She turned to look at him. "Quite often, actually. I would let myself in late at night with my key, undress as I watched you sleep, and slip under the covers." She looked at the bed again and spoke slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was always so cold and you were always so warm. You would wake and turn to pull me into your arms. We would kiss and ..." She stared at the bed before huffing out a laugh and shaking her head. She wiped away a tear with his handkerchief that she still clutched in her hand and turned to him. "Even in my fantasies we led separate lives."

Jack gazed back at her and nodded. "I never imagined us married either."

"No?"

He shook his head. "No, but I only just realised that. I suppose deep down I knew it could never happen."

"So, what did you imagine?"

He looked down and shuffled his feet. "You know very well what I thought about, Phryne. What most men would think about doing with you. Not just that though, there was some travel and a lot of talking and kissing in front of the fire."

"Well, I guess you could say you've had your fantasies realised then," she said, walking slowly towards him. "We've done a lot of that lately."

He hung his head and nodded. "That we have," he said softly.

Phryne stopped a few steps away so there was a comfortable distance between them. "What we had was very special, Jack. I will never, ever forget you, or our time together. You will always be special to me. Always."

Jack looked down and shook his head. He took a deep, ragged breath. "I don't know how to say goodbye to you."

"I know," she said gently, stepping towards him so she could put her hands on his chest. She looked into his eyes, which glistened in the light of his hallway. He looked back with an intensity that quickened the beat of her heart.

"This is how it all started, you know," Phryne said quietly, taking a small step closer so their bodies were almost touching.

Jack sniffed. "Gazing into each other's eyes over whiskey?" His voice was a little shaky.

She smiled. "I knew you'd know what I meant." She left one hand on his chest and cupped his cheek. "I hope you find happiness, Jack. You deserve to be happy and loved."

He gently cupped her jaw and brushed her cheek with his thumb. "As do you, Phryne."

Phryne shook her head. Her chin started to quiver again.

He clicked his tongue softly and pulled her against his left shoulder. She clung to him and cried, mostly from the sadness of losing him, but also at the absurdity of two people who loved each other unable to be together, and the cruelty of finally being in his arms only to have let go and walk away from him, perhaps forever. He gripped her with one arm wrapped tightly around her and buried his face in her hair, his ragged breaths on her neck once again.

They swayed together for a short while. When she felt calmer, she pulled away a little to hold the back of his neck so she could place her cheek against his, desperate to feel his skin against hers. She breathed in his scent one last time, knowing it would be the first thing that would fade from her memory. They stayed like this for a while, cheek on cheek, gently nuzzling each other, first with their noses, then after a while, their lips, their breaths hot and fast. Phryne kissed his cheek, a slow and soft kiss. She did it again, and again as she slowly worked her way to his mouth.

When her lips reached his, she felt him stiffen and lower his arm so it could hang by his side. She ran her fingers down to his hand, which was clenched into a fist in an attempt to control his desire for her. He couldn't control his breathing though and started to pant when she kissed the corner of his mouth. He breathed out a quiet moan as she ran her hand up his chest to the back of his neck to make it harder for him to pull away from her. She moved closer to press against him, but he anticipated her move and took a step backwards with perfect timing to maintain a safe distance until he hit the hardness of the door frame, quickly followed by the softness of her body. He shook his head slowly and breathed out a half-hearted _no …_

Phryne was beyond controlling her need for him now and pressed herself hard against him, her eyes never leaving his, their lips almost touching. She knew he had two choices: allow her to seduce him or forcibly push her away. Words couldn't save him now. The muscles in his neck tightened as he tried to resist her. She pressed her mouth to his and cupped his buttocks so she could pull him against her. He growled then slid his hand in her hair and kissed her hard, grunting in pleasure as she thrust her tongue deep into his mouth. He held her tightly with one arm, but it wasn't enough, so he twirled them around and pushed her hard up against the door frame, forcing a breath out of her. Phryne's legs almost gave way when his hand cupped her bottom so he could grind his pelvis against her. He kissed her deeply, then slowly made his way down her neck.

She froze when he suddenly pulled away from her. He took a step back and stared at her, panting with desire. He grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her against him, kissing her passionately as he walked her backwards to his bed.

Their legs hit the mattress. _One more time,_ she thought as she pushed him backwards and climbed on top. That's all she wanted: one last night together to express their deep love for each other. And if he let her stay the night, she promised herself she'd honour his wishes by walking away in the morning, eyes front and her head held high. There would be no turning back after that.


	25. Chapter 25

_Hi everyone, t_ _ _his is the penultimate chapter._ I tried to get this to you last week but was struck down by an evil lurgie. :-)_

* * *

Jack lay on his back with one arm tucked behind his head and stared at the ceiling. There was chatter outside his window as workers made their way to the biscuit factory at the end of his street. Just before six then. He closed his eyes to relive their sex and felt the heat in his groin spread though his body and end up as a flush on his face. He took a deep breath to slow his heartbeat. God he had missed doing that with her.

But what he missed most of all was her company, terribly, achingly so. His stubborn refusal to have anything to do with her before he left for Geelong had hurt them both, and he felt deep remorse at the way they parted at the hospital. His stupid decision to not let her help him in the weeks after surgery meant he had a painful and slow recovery. It also denied them the comfort they both desperately needed after suffering considerable trauma, one that gave them both terrible nightmares that they endured alone. He was also wracked with shame; with a lot of time on his hands to mull over their predicament, he'd come to realise that he had wanted to punish her for her inability to love him and be with him the way he wanted her to be, not the way in which she was capable.

He'd already decided he would visit her to say a proper goodbye before her aunt forced her way into his home with news of her niece's bereavement. Although he was shocked to see Mrs Stanley on his porch, he was relieved it wasn't Phryne. He didn't think he was strong enough to see her. Mrs Stanley's insights into her niece's struggles with loving and heartbreak had saddened him further, but he was grateful for her apology and surprised by her suggestion of a most unusual gift, one she had admitted to formulating after an innocent chat with Phryne. He'd hardly slept at all that night, tossing and turning as he mulled over her impossible offer, one that prompted a trip to the library early the next morning.

He yawned and thought back to his shock at seeing her as he stood by his bedroom window to draw the curtains for the night. His heart had threatened to burst from his chest but he calmed himself down before opening his door. He'd wanted to go to her and pull her into his arms when he saw her standing in the middle of his street looking so small and vulnerable. But he didn't. He had to stay strong, he just had to. He still loved her, there was no doubt about that, and he knew she loved him back, but he still couldn't see a way forward for them, she wouldn't marry him and he refused to have a covert affair. And even if he did agree to that, she was right: she'd be trouble for him.

He did well to feign his aloofness until he removed her coat. The urge to run his fingertips down the milky skin of her gracefully curved neck that he had previously explored with his mouth almost caused him to moan out a slow breath. He should have taken a step back from her but instead stood too close, close enough to feel the heat from her skin as he breathed in her scent.

The chat about the case was pleasant enough but her deep sadness almost moved him to tears and he could feel his resistance start to crumble. Then came the bombshell: she was willing to sacrifice her life in Australia so he wouldn't sacrifice his.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Somehow, they ended up kissing by the door, and before he knew it he had pulled her towards his bed, tumbling onto his back so he wouldn't hurt his shoulder. She was quick to climb on top, pinning him down as she kissed him.

 _Make love to me Jack_ , she had said, her lips pressed against his mouth. _Just one more time_.

 _God yes_ , he had breathed, his hand on the back of her head to hold her close. _No more apologies_. _And no more talking._

She sat up and gripped his body with her thighs as she took off her top. _Yes_ , she had moaned as he ran his hand over her breasts, _no more talking_.

But despite their agreement, murmurs of how much they missed each other and how good it felt to be in each other's arms again spilled out in between kisses. Afterwards, they held each other tightly and talked of their dreams of that harrowing night, which had plagued them from the moment they fell asleep after being pulled from the river.

It didn't take long for other promises to be broken. _Please, Jack_ , she had begged him sometime around midnight after hours of intense lovemaking. _Can we just have this last night together? Can we? I'll leave in the morning and I won't come back. I promised myself I would do that for you and I'm promising you now. I will leave you to be, no matter how hard it is to walk away from you. Please let me stay._

He had looked at her stricken face. She was propped up on one elbow, her body half draped over his, her face close. _Tell me why I should_ , he had said to her, half serious, half in jest.

She had stopped running her fingers through the hair on his chest and thought about his words. _Because we ... I ..._ After thinking for a while, she sighed and sat up so she could look him in the eye. There was enough light through the gap in the curtains to see her immense sadness. She shook her head. _I can't. I can't give you a good reason. I wouldn't blame you one bit for asking me to leave. In fact, I think you should._ She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She was quiet for a while, then twisted to face him. _You deserve better than me._

She stood and started to move away to dress. He sat up and grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him. _Stay_ , he had said gently, regretting his cruel words. _I want you to be here when I wake_. She looked at him, her pale body glowing in the light of the street lamp. She sat slowly on the edge of the bed, his hand still wrapped tightly around her wrist. After a while he let go and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. _Come back to bed. We can say goodbye in the morning_.

The crack in the curtains that were left open last night revealed a morning sky that glowed a pale blue. He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Yet another clear summer's day. He turned to look at her snoring softly beside him. She was lying on her stomach, her hand curled into a loose fist tucked under her chin. Her mouth, swollen from hours of kissing, was slightly open, her breaths slow and steady. He was reminded of the many mornings that he spent watching her sleep back at Yarrowee, wondering what went in on that complicated head of hers, wondering how on earth he would be able to say goodbye to her. He should have felt ecstatic, happy, content ... something. He had fantasised about waking up next to her in his bed for a long, long time, but how could he feel anything but numb? He was too weak to let her go last night and now he had to go through the heartache of watching her walk away from him yet again. He turned away from her and blew out a quiet breath. Now that he thought about it, he did feel something, and it felt a lot like regret.

-o0o-

 _Three days later …_

The shrill ring of the telephone woke Jack from a dream. He sat up and blinked a few times before getting up and wrapping his dressing gown over his shoulders as best he could with one arm. He padded down the hallway to his telephone and cleared the thickness of sleep from his throat before answering.

"Jack Robinson speaking."

"Deputy Commissioner Whelan here."

Jack moved the booming voice away from his ear.

"Didn't wake you, did I?"

"Er … I … erm," he mumbled, wondering why the DC would be calling him. "How may I help you, sir?"

"Just checking to see how you're getting on and to congratulate you on putting a stop to that dreadful business across the river. Disgusting, that's what it is. You did a fine job, Robinson, as I knew you would. Terribly sorry you were injured in the line of duty though. I meant to telephone you earlier but I've been away and there's a lot happening here at the moment." He paused. "I heard it was a bit touch and go for you there for a while."

Jack smiled at the genuine concern in his voice. The Deputy Commissioner had taken an interest in him early on in his career. After he was shunned by a few of his peers when he arrested his ex-wife's father and fiancé, Whelan had stuck up for him and had been very supportive, despite being an old friend of Sanderson's.

"The shoulder's healing well, thank you."

"Right, jolly good," Whelan barked before falling into a moment of rare silence. Jack could hear him tapping something on the desk. "When are you planning on heading down to Geelong?"

Jack's guts tightened at the mention of his transfer. "Uh, a few weeks, sir, but I could be back at work sooner if you need me to do office duties. Would you like me to come back earlier?"

 _Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap._ Silence _._

"About that, Robinson."

Jack hesitated. "Yes?"

More silence.

"Sir?"

"Are you absolutely certain you want to transfer to Geelong? That's a bloody big move for you, son, and not in the right direction, either. Your talents would be wasted at that station. They deal with low-level thefts, mostly. You'd be bored to death after a month or so." He snorted. "Unless you have a special interest in garden dwarfs, of course."

"Gnomes, sir."

"What? Right. Bloody ridiculous things. Getting knicked all over the place apparently."

Jack nodded and waited for him to continue.

"Still with me?"

"Yes, sir." He sat on the stool by the telephone table and wrapped his dressing gown tightly around him.

"You're a talented detective, Robinson. A natural leader, too. I know you said you had personal reasons for the transfer, and I respect that, but I want you to know that if you do go and then change your mind, your position at City South will always be there for you." Whelan lowered his voice. "Between you and me, son, DI Stevens is a much better fit for Geelong. Skills wise, that is. He's loyal, dedicated, well liked 'n all, but geez, he can be as dumb as a box of rocks sometimes. Spoke to him yesterday actually. He seems very happy there. Will you think about it?"

Jack was silent for a few moments as he stared at his front door. He blinked slowly.

"You there?"

"Er, yes, I will. I will think about it. Thank you for your kind words, sir."

"And another thing, son."

He blinked and raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I had a visit from Doctor Macmillan the other day. Waltzed right into the office and demanded to see me. Heh, heh. She's got a good pair of balls in those trousers of hers. I like that. Interesting timing too, I've received a few complaints about her lately from—"

"What?" Jack interjected. "Why? She's an excellent pathologist!"

"Settle, Robinson," he said gently. "I know she is. It's the old codgers who are complaining. They think a woman should be fetching them tea and sandwiches, not cuttin' up bodies. I understand where they're coming from though, I'm an old codger myself so I know changes like that take a bit of getting used to, but I'm not going to let old-fashioned views get in the way of the right decision. Damn good mind for a woman. Besides, that lot will retire in a couple of years. Anyway, that's all by the by, she wanted to talk about you."

"Oh?"

"She came by to warn me you might try and come back earlier than you should. Turns out she was right. Also told me she went to see you in hospital." He chuckled. "I think she might be sweet on you."

Jack raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Highly unlikely, sir."

"Right. Well, don't be too sure, son. Blokes are blind to that sort of thing my missus always tells me. Anyway, she told me that you should have longer off than I originally thought, you know, to heal properly. Can't have you out on the street with a bung shoulder now, can we? So, I went and looked up your records. Jesus! What flamin' drongo doesn't take a holiday in over two years? And after all that palaver with Sanderson, too. Well, it got me thinking. I want you to take some leave. In fact, I'm ordering you to do it. Take a good long holiday, son. Think things through and let me know next week if you still want to go ahead with the transfer and how much leave you'll be taking. Alrighty?"

Jack was hit with a mix of emotions. He closed his eyes and blew out a quiet breath. "Thank you, sir. And yes, you're right, I will make sure I'm properly healed before I come back. I would expect nothing less from my men."

"Rightio, that's settled then. Take it easy, son. I'm not taking any risks with you, you're too valuable to me. And I want you to have a proper think about Geelong, you hear me?"

Jack opened his mouth to respond but was stopped by a loud click followed by silence. He placed the receiver back in its hook and brought his hand to his mouth. Mac was right to make sure he didn't try and get back to work too early, but the DC's thinly veiled directive that he stay in Melbourne complicated everything. He looked at the ceiling and puffed out a breath as he tried to gauge how he felt about what had just happened.

He shivered from spending too long in his cold hallway. Or was it the shock of the call? Gathering his dressing gown tightly around him, he rose slowly, allowing his right arm to hang by his side as he shuffled back to his bedroom. He tossed his robe onto the chair before sliding back under the covers, grunting in pleasure as he pressed up against the warmth of her body.

Phryne turned and wrapped her arm around him, sliding her leg between his. "What's Mac done now?" she asked sleepily.

"Eavesdropping were you?" He squeezed her hip, causing her to squeak from the coldness of his hand.

She smiled. "Of course!"

Jack kissed her gently on the forehead and then lay on his back. Phryne propped herself up on her elbow and put her hand in his chest. "Well?"

He was rattled but did his best to hide it. "You really don't know?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her playfully.

She shook her head. "I really don't know." She drew a large cross on his chest with her finger. "Cross your heart and hope you die."

Jack snorted out a small laugh and grabbed her hand, "That's not how it goes, and you know it." He brought her hand to his mouth to kiss her fingers.

Phryne gave him a quick kiss on the lips and lay back down with her head on his shoulder and her arm draped across his chest. "I haven't spoken to her in a while. Tell me. What's she done?"

"She meddled."

She lifted her head to look at him. "Oh? How?"

"She went to see the DC to tell him it would take much longer for my shoulder to heal and to warn him I may try to go back to work early."

Phryne put her head back down on his shoulder. Jack felt her tighten her grip on him but she remained silent. He ran his hand over her back as he thought more about the phone call. He wasn't ready to tell her what else Whelan had said. He needed to think that through before he'd bring that up. As far as they were both concerned, she was due to sail back to England in six days and he'd eventually leave for Geelong.

Or would he?

It had been three days since the morning after she'd come to his house to say goodbye. By the time she woke, he had worked himself into a state about her leaving. When she sleepily reached out to embrace him, he pulled her to him roughly and kissed her until she panted with desire then climbed on top of him again. Afterwards, when she moved to roll off him, he stopped her and held her tightly. _Don't go. I could really do with some help_ , he had blurted as a way of getting around her promise of walking away from him. _Please stay and help me._ It was a desperate excuse, but it was true in a way. Although his shoulder was healing, it was still too painful to use his arm properly. She had pressed her lips together to contain her emotion and nodded as she brushed the hair from his forehead. They kissed then smiled at each other, happy they'd found a way of staying together without yet another serious conversation, at least not until they had to say goodbye before she boarded the boat back to England. One day turned to two, which then became three ...

"And?"

"He asked how the shoulder was going and when I thought I'd be ready to work again."

"That's all?" she asked, frowning. "You were on the telephone quite a long time."

"We talked of other things."

"Like what?"

Jack smiled at her nosiness. "The case. And Mac. He thinks she fancies me."

Phryne snorted out a laugh. "He said that?"

He knew that would distract her. "She told him she went to see me in hospital. So now he thinks she fancies me."

"Well," Phryne said slowly, "she does."

Jack drew his head back to look at her. "What?"

"Not in that way, silly, but I can tell she's very fond of you. Likes that you treat her with respect. Very protective of you, too."

Jack smiled. He was more pleased then he thought he would be.

Phryne pulled back suddenly and propped herself up on her elbow. "Speaking of Mac, I was thinking of inviting her over for dinner soon. I haven't seen much of her since I've been back, and I don't have much ..." She trailed off and was quiet as she ran her fingers over his chest. "Perhaps I could do it tonight. But only if you came too," she added quickly. She watched him closely while he considered the invitation. "Please, Jack? Mr Butler would be thrilled to cook for you before I … we ... well, you know."

Was she organising a farewell dinner? He took a slow breath and looked at her biting her lip as she waited for an answer. She should know by now he was lousy at saying no to her. He faked a smile and smoothed down her wayward hair. "Mr Butler's cooking? How could I say no?"

-o0o-

Jack looked down at the plate of food Mr Butler had placed in front of him. He almost swooned when he saw it was _coq au vin_ , accompanied by a mountain of creamy mashed potato and green beans. It was served it in a shallow bowl, the meat already pulled from the bone. He looked up to see Phryne smiling at him and smiled back. "Thank you, Mr Butler," he said, looking up at him. "That looks and smells utterly delicious."

Mr Butler smiled affectionately and refilled Jack's glass of wine. "You're most welcome, Inspector."

They had arrived mid-afternoon with a small bag of Jack's clothes after Phryne had spent most of the morning trying to convince him to stay the night. In the end he gave in, deciding her comfortable bed and plentiful fine wine and spirits made up for any awkwardness he may feel knowing Mr Butler knew he was upstairs sharing her bed. Well, that and not wanting to spend a night away from her.

Mac arrived around six and pushed past Phryne to give him a brief hug with enough warmth to let him know she cared about him without making him feel awkward. She then asked him a series of questions about shoulder pain and mobility. Satisfied that everything was healing well, she didn't mention his injury again. Nor did she mention the visit to the DC, but they had given each other a knowing look before she turned to greet Phryne.

The hour or so before dinner was filled with comfortable chatter, mostly between Phryne and Mac. Jack sat in the chair with one of Mr Butler's cocktails and watched the old friends. It was good to see Phryne laugh and be more like herself, but every now and then he felt her glance at him when he wasn't looking, and when he did catch her eye, he saw sadness and worry before the inevitable forced smile. He tried to join in and did well for a while, but the phone call from the DC had left him deeply conflicted and he fell into a contemplative mood.

Phryne and Mac continued to chat throughout dinner, mostly about the case and life in the country. He chimed in now and then but was mostly quiet. He took his last mouthful of dinner and was just about to ask for a second helping when Phryne told him Mr Butler had made a special dessert for him. He raised his eyebrows. "What is it?"

"I don't know, actually. Mr Butler wouldn't tell me. It smelt good, though."

Jack looked down at the table. He was overcome by the kindness and thoughtfulness of these people who had started to feel like family. When he looked up again, Phryne was looking at him with a small frown on her face. He smiled at her, as genuinely as he could, then turned to Mac, who was also watching him.

"Well," he said, raising his glass, "here's to good company and Mr Butler's food. Having lived on eggs in various forms for the last fortnight, this is quite the luxury." He took a sip and held his smile for as long as he could, letting it fade when Mr Butler came in to fill their glasses and take away the dinner plates. After twenty minutes or so, he returned and stood beside Jack to place a large pie on the table.

"Hot apricot pie, Inspector. I believe you greatly enjoyed this last time you had it." Mr Butler smiled and touched him briefly on the shoulder before picking up his bowl. Jack looked up to see Phryne looking at him again with a wistful look on her face. They gazed at each other as they remembered that wonderful afternoon in her garden not long before she left for England when they spoke of blue skies and openly flirted with each other. By the time he had left late that afternoon, they both knew they'd become more than just friends.

"Cream, Inspector?"

Jack blinked and smiled at him. "Of course. Thank you, Mr Butler."

Mr Butler smiled as he placed the bowl in front of him. Jack leant forward to breathe in its deliciousness then looked up at Phryne and winked at her. He wanted her to think he was relaxed and enjoying himself, but he was barely holding it together.

After dessert, they retired to the parlour. Jack tinkered quietly on the piano while the old friends traded gossip. Mr Butler came in around ten to ask if Phryne needed him further and when she said no, he bid them goodnight. Mac also stood to leave, an early shift the next day, she explained.

They both saw Mac out and returned to the parlour for one more drink before bed. He walked in ahead of her and sat on the chaise. He felt her gaze on him as she stood in the doorway for a few moments before walking to the drinks tray to pour them a nightcap. She passed him a glass and sat down next to him.

"Is whiskey acceptable again?" she asked. He noticed a slight slur in her voice.

He smirked at her. "Depends on the quality." He took a sip and pretended to decide if it was good enough for him.

"How was the pie?" she asked with a smile.

"Delicious." He reached for her hand and caressed her palm with his thumb. "Just like the last time we had it."

Phryne looked down at their entwined hands. "I always think of you now when I see a cloudless blue sky."

Jack squeezed her hand. "I think of you always, whatever the colour of the sky."

She smiled sadly. "Oh, Jack." She moved closer and reached out to caress the curls that were forming at the nape of his neck. She took a deep breath. "Will you stay tonight?"

Jack could see she was struggling. Mr Butler's continuous cocktails probably hadn't helped. He caressed her knee and looked at her. "Did you think I'd changed my mind?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a small shrug. "Possibly. You've been very quiet this evening."

Jack nodded slowly and looked down at his hand on her knee. "I haven't changed my mind." He looked up at her again. "Although I'm pleased Mr Butler has gone to bed. I wasn't looking forward to having him bid us goodnight at the foot of the stairs."

Phryne smiled and leant closer. He could see her wrestling with something she wanted to say. She opened her mouth and then closed it again quickly, taking a quick sip of her drink to disguise her change of heart. She put her drink on the table and leant in to gently kiss him on the lips. He kissed her back. She pulled away slowly, keeping her face close to his so she could nuzzle him gently with her nose. They kissed again, this time with more passion.

"Come to bed," she whispered. She stood and held out her hand.

Jack downed the rest of his drink in one go and put the glass on the table. He stood and took her hand so she could lead him up the stairs to her bedroom. When they reached her doorway, she paused to smile at him. He nodded to acknowledge the momentous occasion.

She pulled him through the doorway and led him to stand by her bed. He watched her quickly remove her clothes then dump them over the back of her chair. She walked towards him dressed only in her undergarments. "Here, let me help you."

She had cared for him with such love and tenderness the last few days, cooking for him and helping him bathe and dress, but he found being undressed by her for bed very moving. She was rarely short of words, but she always stood quietly before him as she gently peeled away his clothes and touched him in a way a wife would touch her husband: with ease and a sense of familiarity and possessiveness. He would stand quietly, passively as he gave himself to her completely, his eyes never leaving her face.

She undid the knot on the sling then supported his arm as he slowly straightened it. She tossed the sling over the back of her chair then gently peeled off his jacket and vest. His eyes followed her across the room to watch her hang his clothes on a coat hanger and then place them on a hook on the back of the door. She took a small step back and looked at them, just like he had done with her coat at his house. He caught a flicker of sadness on her face before she turned to him and quickly rearranged her features into a smile. She stood in front of him again to work on his tie, which he had insisted on wearing to show his appreciation of Mr Butler's efforts. He studied her face. Something was wrong.

She draped his tie over the back of her chair and took a deep breath before turning back to him. She walked towards him and leant in quickly to kiss him, perhaps to hide her growing distress. When he drew back from her, they gazed at each other before she leant in and pressed another gentle kiss to his lips. She pulled away and slid his suspenders over his shoulders and undid the buttons of his shirt, positioning his arms so she could remove it as gently as possible. After tossing his shirt on the chair, she ran her hands over his chest, not as a seductive move, but out of habit and a need for intimacy.

"Singlet on or off?"

"You tell me," he said softly.

After she tossed the singlet on top of his shirt, she reached for the fly of his pants. He quickly put his hand over hers to stop her, causing her to look up in concern.

"I can take it from here," he said gently. He ran the back of his hand over her belly. "You have the rest of your clothes to remove."

Phryne nodded and attempted a smile again. He caught a small wobble in her chin just before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his cheek. He slid his arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

They stayed like that for a while, gently swaying in a tight embrace, until Phryne pulled away. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, closing it again as she looked away from him.

Jack ran a finger down her cheek. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath and placed her hands on his chest. "You've been quiet all day. You know something that you're not telling me. I know you do. Something the DC said on the telephone this morning. Something's changed Jack, what is it?"

Jack's heart beat strongly under her hands. Of course she knew there was more to that phone call than he was willing to say. He pressed his lips together and thought about how much to tell her.

"The DC ordered me to take some leave before coming back to work."

"That's it?" She frowned and shook her head. She was starting to get agitated. "What else Jack, tell me."

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he looked at her again, he saw the hurt and confusion on her face. "He … er … wants me to stay at City South."

Phryne sucked in a breath. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. He wants an answer next week."

She leant in so her face was close to his. "Say yes!" she pleaded. "Please stay, Jack."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know … I need to think about it."

"You have to stay!"

He looked at her. "And if I did, what would you do?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

She pressed her lips together to control the wobble in her chin. "On you."

He looked at her fighting back tears and clicked his tongue gently. "Don't cry, Phryne." He brushed his fingers across her forehead and cupped her cheek in his hand.

She opened her mouth and closed it again, huffing out a breath and looking up to the ceiling. She slid her hands up his chest and linked them behind his neck. "I ..." She paused and gave her head a small shake. The longer she hesitated, the more agitated she became. "I ..."

Jack frowned. "What is it?"

He watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened them and gazed at him for a short while. "I love you, Jack." She nodded. "I love you. I was going to tell you in the boat before we ..." She shook her head again and bit her lip as she tried not to cry.

Jack pulled her to his chest and closed his eyes tightly. He knew she loved him, but finally hearing her say it was almost too much. "Let's not talk of that night," he whispered. "We don't need to anymore."

She pulled back to look at him. "I don't want you to go to Geelong, and I don't want to go back to England." Now that she had started talking, her words tumbled out quickly. "Please don't go. I want to be with you. You, Jack," she said tugging gently on his neck, "only you. I know this is something I should have said earlier, but ... I ...," she looked down and then back up at him, "I honestly believed you'd be better off without me. And if you do too, then at least you can walk away knowing how I feel about you. And if you stay, then perhaps we could … we could somehow find a way to be together."

Jack looked at her worried face. He tucked her hair behind her ear. "But you won't marry."

Phryne hung her head. She was quiet for a while before looking up at him. "I have thought long and hard about that, Jack. I really have. No, I won't marry. I just can't. You know that, I know you do. But why can't we be lovers? I've just spent the last three days at your house, and here you are now in my bedroom. We can do this. She stepped closer so she was pressed up against him. "I know you said you would never try and change me, but I will change for you, Jack. We can step out like any other courting couple, and I won't do anything to draw attention to myself. I won't break the law, and I won't do anything stupid."

He clicked his tongue softly and pulled her to his chest. "Oh Phryne. I don't want to you to change, not even a little. You'd be utterly miserable. I also don't want to get in the way of you making a difference." He pulled back to look at her. "I love you just as you are."

Phryne shook her head. "Then don't leave me. We can take up Aunt P's offer of—"

"Phryne," he said quickly. "I can't make a decision right now. Believe me, it's all I've thought about today, but I have to think more about it. I'm sorry, I know that's cruel, but I'm not ready to give you an answer."

Phryne huffed out a breath in frustration. She looked at him and nodded. "One day at a time, that's all I ask of you. Will you think about it?"

Jack pulled her close to press his forehead against hers. She was wanting an answer, but he couldn't possibly give her one now. He kissed her forehead and nodded. "Yes, I will think about it."

-o0o-

Jack stared up at the ceiling. They had kissed and held each other tightly in bed, but were too rattled to think about sex. After an hour or so, emotionally exhausted and a little drunk, Phryne dropped off to sleep. He didn't. He was tormented, conflicted, annoyed with himself for being crippled with indecision and spent most of the night struggling to quieten his maddening mind. Why not give it a go with her? He blew out a breath, because he had talked himself into believing it would never work; he'd just be prolonging the misery.

Sleep, when it did come, was fitful and plagued by dreams. Not the usual nightmares about drowning or pulling her lifeless body from the river, but about watching her walk away from him. He turned his head to look at her and sucked in a breath to deal with the stab of pain in his chest. He thought back to Mr Butler's damn apricot pie and shook his head at the memory of that day with her in her garden when they talked of clouds and blue skies. Yes, he felt precariously tethered lying in the darkness, not to the earth though, but to the woman he loved. He was one decision from drifting away from her.

He shook his head. How could he feel so conflicted? He was where he had wanted to be for years now, yet he also wanted to flee from her bed. He wanted to marry her, claim her as his, yet he also wanted to move on from her. He admired her conviction, yet wanted to shake her for not agreeing to marry him. He loved her so much, but a small part of him hated her for what she had done to him. He knew that was cruel and unfair, but despite understanding why she did what she did, he needed to cling to that hate to help him move on from her.

The rattle of pans from the kitchen below as Mr Butler started his day took him out of his thoughts. He groaned as realised that he would have to face him on the way out of her house. Best get it over with. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as he sat up, careful not to wake her. He watched her sleep for a while but it pained him too much. God, he loved her. He blinked back tears and leant in to kiss her temple, leaving his lips pressed gently against her skin. She stirred and turned over. When he was sure she was still asleep, he got out of bed and dressed.

-o0o-

Phryne woke to the smell of baking bread. She turned and slid her hand over her sheets then propped herself up on her elbows. He was gone. She frowned and sat up, squinting at the bright light though a crack in her curtains. She flung back the covers, pulled her dressing gown from the back of her door where his clothes hung last night and padded down the stairs in bare feet. Mr Butler arrived at the foot of the stairs to greet her.

"Is the Inspector still here?" she asked before he could bid her good morning.

"He left a couple of hours ago, Miss Fisher."

She was suddenly filled with dread. Had she pushed him away with her clumsy declaration of love and insistence that they should try to stay together, no matter what? She turned to look upstairs, wondering if he'd left her a note on her dresser.

"There's an envelope on the table for you, miss," Mr Butler said. He turned and walked into the kitchen with Phryne close behind. She felt a tug in her belly when she saw the sealed envelope propped up against the sugar bowl on the kitchen table.

"Tea, Miss Fisher?"

She thought about taking the note to the parlour but she sat down at the table, suddenly needing the comfort of Mr Butler's presence.

"Yes please," she said softly. "Were you up when he left?"

"Yes, he had tea and toast right here. We had quite a nice chat, actually."

"Oh? What about?"

Mr Butler turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "This and that. He left soon after writing the note."

She blew out a breath and slumped her shoulders. At least he didn't sneak out the door. And of course Mr Butler wouldn't tell her what they spoke about. He was one of the most trustworthy people she knew. She looked down at the envelope. She waited until Mr Butler turned to put the kettle on to open it, not noticing that he had turned slightly to watch her reaction. After a quick scan, she sucked in a breath and stood suddenly. She stared at him with wide eyes and stood motionless for a few moments, her mouth still open.

She turned and raced up the stairs to dress.


	26. Chapter 26

_So here we are (finally) at the end of the story. I know I put Phryne and Jack (and you my lovely readers) through the wringer, and brushed on some truly terrible aspects of Australian history, so I want to thank you for sticking with what turned out to be a very_ _ _long and_ intense story. I'd also like to thank you all again for your lovely comments and words of encouragement. It_ _ _was heartwarming to be so warmly__ _ _ _ _welcomed__ after a long fanfiction hiatus. __

__I've really loved being part of this MFMM fanfiction community. It was through fanfiction that I discovered a love of writing and have made some very special friends.__ _ _ _I've been humbled by everyone's support and enthusiasm for my stories over the years. I've relished every comment, follow and favourite.__ So thank you for making the experience so special for me. I've had a blast. _

* * *

Jack looked up and marvelled at the thick band of stars. It had been a while since he'd wanted to gaze at the night sky, it had reminded him too much of her whenever he'd done so lately, but he was starting to feel more like himself again. He tucked his right hand into the pocket of his trousers to take the weight off his shoulder and rubbed at the dull ache in his bone. Five weeks since the operation; the pain had mostly subsided and it was good to have his arm out of the sling, but it felt like all the packing he'd done yesterday had set his healing back a little.

He took a deep breath and blew it out so hard it puffed out his cheeks. It had taken him a while to come to terms with his decision, but after months of anguish he finally felt good about his future. A little apprehensive perhaps, he was moving into unknown territory, but he was up for the challenge now. He thought back to the small band of people who had gathered to say goodbye. He wasn't normally one for farewells, all the tears and lingering hugs made him uneasy, but there was no sadness this time. They were happy for him. But was he? He was momentarily distracted by a shooting star that burnt out just before it reached the horizon. Yes, he was.

His life these last couple of years was an emotional roller coaster, emotions that he hadn't felt in years: lust, love, jealousy and devastation. He thought back to how excited he felt after the kiss at the airfield that started it all. He sighed and shook his head slowly. He'd been put through the wringer since then. They both had. He looked at his feet and pursed his lips. What would he be doing now if he hadn't decided to race there that morning to let her know how he felt about her? Probably working back late at City South, like he usually did, rather than gazing at the universe and pondering his future. He wondered what Phryne was doing right now. No doubt turning heads as she leant against a bar and sipped on a cocktail.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see her walking towards him with a drink in each hand. She turned suddenly in a half pirouette and raised both glasses in a silent toast, turning again to continue towards him, not spilling one drop.

"What was that about?" he asked as she neared. He watched in admiration as she took the last few smooth and effortless steps towards him despite the sway of the ship on choppy water.

"Just toasting the Captain." She passed him his drink and kissed him on the cheek. "We had a chat at the bar while I was waiting for our martinis."

Jack smirked. Well surmised. "So, should I be worried about this person," he asked playfully before clinking his glass with hers and taking a sip.

Phryne huffed out a small laugh. "Hardly. He's older than my father. Quiet man, somewhat aloof, although when he entered the room he made a beeline for me at the bar."

"No surprises there," Jack said as he cupped her jaw and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb.

"It wasn't like that," she said taking a sip of her drink. "He captained the boat on my voyage back to Australia," she continued. "He's back at work after taking leave in Melbourne. He remembered me from the trip out. That didn't surprise me, I noticed him watching me from time to time in the cocktail bar."

"He'd watch you?" Jack didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Not in a worrying way," she said, toying with the lapel of his tuxedo. "He was curious."

"About what?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "About me."

"Of course he was," he said, smiling and rolling his eyes to try and downplay his annoyance. "Yet another poor moth drawn to the dazzling flame that is Miss Fisher."

Phryne grinned and swayed her hips seductively. "Well I can't help it if I dazzle."

Jack smiled at her. It was good to see her happy again. "So … why was he curious about you?"

"Well, a youngish woman alone on a ship ..."

"That's hardly surprising."

She shrugged. "I suppose not. He said he would watch me at the bow when he was on the bridge." She looked around. "Different ship, same place. I spent a lot of time here."

Jack cocked his head. "Doing what?"

"Escaping the moths," she said with a smile. "But mostly I came here to be alone with my thoughts." She turned to look at the water. "I've always loved the ocean. Its might and fury never scared me. Still doesn't after … well, you know." She was quiet for a while as she looked out to sea. "I found it calming, even on rough days. I guess that says a lot about my state of mind back then." She looked at him. "I came here when I would have the bow to myself: Sunday mornings, wet and windy days, evenings when there was a popular show on." She fell quiet and looked back at the water.

"Pretending to be the ship's figurehead?" he joked, seeing she had become serious. He brushed her hair from her forehead. "You'd make a very beautiful one."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Actually, I'd come and think of you."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Me?" She had gone quiet again so he put his drink in his right hand and reached under her coat to pull her closer so her hip was pressed against his. He kept his arm wrapped around her waist and leant against the railing. "What about me?"

Phryne turned to face him and put her hand on his chest. She toyed with his lapel for a while before answering. "Oh, many things." She took a sip of her drink to avoid his eye. After a while she looked up at him. "But mostly I was punishing myself for pushing away the man who meant more to me than all other men put together."

Jack huffed out a small laugh.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"You certainly have a way with words."

"All right then, I was punishing myself for pushing away the man I loved, the man I have loved for a long time but was too daft to realise. How's that? Better?"

"Much better," he said with a chuckle. He leant forward so he could kiss her forehead and kept his face pressed gently against her skin. He could have stayed there like that forever: standing close under a clear, starry sky, a cocktail in one hand, the other wrapped around her to keep her close so the pitch and yaw of the ship rocked her gently against him. After kissing her again, he pulled away so he could tuck her hair behind her ear. "It almost worked."

"What did?"

"You trying to push me away. Thank goodness for your meddlesome aunt." He squeezed her hip. "She used to terrify me, you know. I always felt like I'd been caught red handed doing something naughty and was sent to the school mistress. I tried to act like I was in charge but she could always see right through me."

Phryne widened her eyes. "She is formidable, I will give her that. I'm sorry to say that I never really appreciated it until now. I was too annoyed by her conservative views and strict adherence to societal expectations. The stroke changed her though. It helped her understand what is and isn't important, and she finally realised there was more to life than keeping up appearances. I have to admit, her new attitude rubbed off on me too."

"Since when were you ever worried about keeping up appearances?"

"Well, not that, but she helped me see what was really important in life, or more to the point," she said tilting her head up to him, "who was really important."

They gazed at each other for a while as they finished their drinks. Phryne put their empty glasses on the deck behind her. She stood up and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, not caring if they were watched from the bridge.

"I've kept all your love letters, you know."

Jack cocked his head. "Love letters?"

Phryne smiled at him and nodded. "Yes, every one of them. But your last one is my favourite." She grinned. "I read it so often I know it by heart."

He frowned, genuinely confused. He'd written some awful letters to her at the end of their correspondence. "You can remember a whole letter?" He narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."

"It's true, Jack." She slid her hands down his chest and took a small step back from him, clearing her throat in preparation for her recital. "About time you got up, lazybones," she said, mimicking his voice. "I'm discussing travel plans with your aunt."

Jack chuckled. "Oh, that love letter."

"I was so shocked when I read it. I couldn't speak, just raced upstairs to get dressed, leaving poor Mr Butler not knowing what was going on."

Jack turned down the corners of his mouth and shook his head. "No, he knew what I wrote. Well, the gist of it, not the actual words."

"Oh?" she said raising her eyebrows and stepping closer so she could put her hands on his chest. "Is that so? I've been wondering what you two spoke about that morning."

Jack raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "This and that."

She pulled her head back and frowned. "That's what Mr B said! What did he say to you? Tell me."

He laughed at her and pulled her close again so he could brush her nose with his. "Nope."

Phryne pulled back to look at him. "Why not? He won't mind. Tell me, Jack!"

Jack leant in close so he could whisper in her ear. "Secret men's business."

Phryne clicked her tongue. She opened to mouth to protest but was stopped by Jack's mouth on hers. They swayed gently together for a few moments, their conversation forgotten as they were lost in a slow kiss. She withdrew her lips just enough to talk. "Careful Jack. We'll be chastised for untoward behaviour." Jack kissed her again, this time more passionately. "Jack!" she laughed when he finally released her.

He smiled. "Chastised by your not-so-secret admirer up on the bridge? Doubt it. I'm sure he's seen it all before. He probably thinks we're newlyweds on our honeymoon."

"Newlyweds with separate cabins? I think not."

"Ah … well I haven't set foot in mine yet." He flicked up his eyebrows and stroked her bottom under her coat.

"And I'd like to keep it that way." She wrapped her arms around his chest. "Although you might get a bit sick of me after a while. We'll be living in each other's pockets for months."

"Sick of you? Hardly." He put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her close so he could whisper against her lips. "I can't get enough of you."

They kissed again. Phryne pulled away and looked at him quietly as she ran her hands up his chest. "Any concerns, Inspector?"

"About us?"

She nodded.

Jack turned his head to look at the ocean for a few moments. "A few."

"Tell me."

He flicked his eyes to her then back at the ocean. "You know what they are."

"Tell me anyway."

He sighed. "Well …," he said slowly. "I don't like uncertainty. And I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of stepping out indefinitely. It's bound to get difficult when word gets out about us." He pursed his lips as he stared out to sea. "And it's been a while since I shared my life with anyone." He looked at her. "I can't help but worry sometimes that we're not as suited as we think." He paused then gave her a quick smile. "I also worry that I will worry the whole time about losing you."

"Oh Jack," she said softly. She cupped his jaw. "That's a lot of worrying."

He shrugged. "Any man would worry about losing you. Too many dashing moths out there."

She put her hands behind his neck to pull him towards her until their foreheads were touching. "You're not any man, you're the man who made me realise I was capable of loving. And capable of fidelity." She huffed out a small laugh. "That's quite a feat." She pulled back to look at him. "You're the only man I have ever truly wanted to be with."

Jack smiled as he leant in to kiss her. She had told him she loved him many times since she first managed it in her bedroom and he had lapped up every word. "And you? Do you have concerns?"

She drew back to look at him, her hands still clasped behind his neck. "Honestly?"

"Of course. Always."

"No, I don't." She ran her hands down his jacket and under his lapels so she could stroke his chest. "We've been through so much together these last few months, and we survived everything that was thrown at us: distance, my ridiculous insecurities, terrible fights. Even an attempt on our lives and, for a short time, thinking we were both dead. And yet here we are, on the most wonderful adventure with each other. Yes, it will probably get hard for us. There will always be people who will feel the need to judge us, but we also have lots of people on our side. There are many good, influential people that care about you, Jack. So let's try not to worry about that until it happens. If it happens."

Jack nodded. She was right, of course. Why worry now about something that hadn't happened yet?

Phryne stroked his cheek. "We just need to promise each other that we'll keep talking and take things one day at a time."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "One day at a time? Good in theory, but not in practice. We'll have to plan our days so we know when we can see each other."

"All right then, one week at time."

He smiled. "Well, given I work a fortnightly roster, it will have to be one fortnight at a time."

Phryne laughed. "Right then, Inspector. One fortnight at a time. I've never been good at planning, but I can do that."

His smile faded quickly. "There might be long stretches of time when we may not be able to see much of each other."

Phryne nodded. "I know. But that will make seeing you all the more special. Anyway," she said lightly as she toyed with his lapels. "I did something before we left that may help with some of our potential problems."

Jack narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "Uh oh. What have you done now?"

She grinned at him. "I bought us a holiday cottage in Sorrento."

Jack jerked his head back to look at her. "What? You bought a house?"

"Yes, I did," she said, still grinning.

"But … what …" He shook his head and huffed out a laugh. "When did this happen?" He still had his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"A couple of days before we left. It belonged to a friend of Aunt P's. She's unwell and needs to stay in Melbourne for treatment so decided to sell it. She didn't want to, poor thing, she loves it there. Aunt P told me of her illness, so I've known about it for a few weeks now, but once you decided to stay I thought more about how perfect it would be for us. I drove down on Tuesday to have a look." She jiggled with excitement. "It is perfect, Jack! It's isolated enough to come and go without being seen, but it has electricity and running water. I can't wait to show it to you!"

He brushed the hair from her face and cupped her jaw in both hands. "You would do that for me?"

"Yes, I would. And I did. For you and for us. It will be ours, Jack. Our secluded getaway."

Jack smiled and shook his head. She was planning their future. He felt emotional and didn't know what to say so he pulled her to him and hugged her tightly. "So that's where you went when you told me you had to see a man about a dog," he said when he was feeling more in control. "I knew you were up to something."

Phryne pulled back and grinned at him. "Of course you did! I'm always up to something. No fooling you, Inspector."

"Bay or ocean side?"

"Ocean, of course. We have a view of it from the house. There's also a small secluded beach just a short walk away. And," she said with a smirk, "there's no river in sight, and no big trees to come crashing down on us. The road there is excellent, too, I made it there in just under three hours. Oh! And we get to keep the piano. It's so perfect, Jack! We can spend your days off or holidays there if you wish."

He shook his head and drew her close again and kissed her on the head. "So you are good at planning, after all. You really have thought of everything."

Phryne smiled up at him. "I meant what I said, Jack. I want it to be ours. You never know, you may even want to go there alone sometimes."

"Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Oh, I don't know." Phryne slid her hand under his jacket to stroke his chest. "You might need some time away from me, or some time alone to finish your book." She smirked at him. "You're a surprisingly slow reader."

He scoffed and pinched her bottom. "Which book? I was reading several until I found something better to do with my nights." He flicked up an eyebrow and smiled at her.

 _"_ _A Passage to India_ , of course. You've had that on your bedside table for weeks now. I nearly died when I saw it at your house. I thought you must have decided to accept Aunt P's offer. But then ..."

Jack tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. "I desperately wanted to, you know."

"I know. And now you have. She's thrilled, as you know. I was surprised at just how perfect her offer was. A trip to India, of all places! Much better than the book. It would have been a poor substitute for the real thing."

"I hope so. It's not quite the romantic travelogue I thought it would be."

"No, it's most certainly not," she said flaring her eyes. "Anyway, speaking of romantic travel ..." She pressed up against him. "We have our own adventure ahead of us. Tell me, what are you most excited about?"

Jack flicked his eyebrows up and blew out a small breath. "How could I possibly choose? It's a dream come true in so many ways, but … I suppose it would be looking for tigers on safari." He pursed his lips and tilted his head. "Perhaps watching a game of cricket in Bombay, and seeing the Taj Mahal."

"Ah, the temple of love. How romantic, Jack!"

He smiled at her. "I can be romantic." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "And what about you? What are you most looking forward to?"

Phryne thought for a moment. "Apart from spending every day and night with you? Well, the beaches of Ceylon and southern India are meant to be lovely. Exploring the jungle with you, of course, and just about everything in Rajputana. And the food. I developed a taste of it when we stopped in Colombo on the way over. I hope you like spicy food."

Jack grimaced. "I hope so too."

Phryne chuckled. "Don't worry, there'll be plenty of tasteless British food on offer at the hotels. But I'm not going to India to spend time with the English. I've done quite a bit of that lately. There's so much to see and explore, Jack, especially the ancient forts and antiquities. And there's some art I'm very interested in purchasing. For the boudoir," she added with a wink.

Jack smirked. "Oh? Like in the book you leant to Collins?"

Phryne's eyes widened. "You knew about that?"

"Of course!" he said, feigning indignation. "Collins didn't know I knew though. Poor lad would have been mortified to know I'd figured out he didn't really have the trots that day."

Phryne tipped her head back and roared with laughter. "Poor sweet, innocent Hugh! You were always very good to him, you know."

"And I will continue to be," he said, pulling her closer and kissing the side of her nose just under her eye, "thanks to everyone meddling in my affairs and insisting I stay. I didn't expect Hugh to be quite so devastated by the idea of me leaving."

"Oh, Jack! You have no idea, do you? It would have felt like he was losing a father all over again." She ran her hand up his chest. "And it's not just Hugh, I think all the flags in Melbourne would have flown at half-mast if you had left for Geelong. I don't think you realise just how much you are liked and admired. Not to mention needed. Mac was furious with me after she found out about the transfer."

Jack smiled. "I know."

Phryne narrowed her eyes. "She told you?"

"Not in so many words, no. But I could tell she was displeased."

"Yes, well, she never was one to hide her feelings. She's thrilled, of course, that you'll be back. Although I think she's missing your secret rendezvous after the late-night autopsies."

Jack chuckled. "Are you jealous that we bonded over corpses in the morgue?"

"Terribly," she said pretending to pout. "That's how we bonded."

"Hmm, no, we bonded over whiskey in your parlour."

"So we did." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. "Speaking of which, I could do with one now. Shall we go to the cocktail lounge," she pressed up against him, "or our cabin?"

"Well, given I am currently wearing most of your lipstick …"

"So you are," she said, rubbing her thumb over his lips. "Perhaps we should go to the cabin first to get cleaned up."

Jack pursed his lips and pretended to think. "Hmm, would I like some time alone with you in the cabin?" He put her hands on her backside and pulled her tightly against him, smiling at her as her eyebrows shot up.

Phryne grinned. "Cabin it is, then."

-o0o-

Phryne sat on the double bed and looked at Jack sleeping beside her. He was lying on his back, one arm above his head, the other stretched out across the bed. She looked at his serene expression and gorgeously tousled hair and felt an odd fluttering sensation in her chest. Dysrhythmia would be Mac's diagnosis, but she knew what it really was: her heart had just skipped a beat. She smiled and shook her head; she couldn't quite believe she had three months of him all to herself. And after that? Who knew. The only thing she knew for certain was that she desperately loved him, and he loved her back.

Her eyes roamed slowly over his pale torso and up to the deep magenta scar on his shoulder. She started to recall that terrible night until laughter in the hallway outside her door startled her out of her thoughts. She reached for her watch on the small bedside table, sighing when she saw the time. Just past ten and he was out like a light. She heard more giggling and muffled words before a cabin door slammed shut. The upper decks on the liner were reserved for the so-called cream of society, the refined upper class who by day walked the deck seeking conversations about politics and the arts, but by night engaged in drunken debauchery until falling unconscious, and not always in a cabin. If it were any other time she wouldn't hesitate: she'd be at the cocktail bar with them, drinking and dancing until dawn. She still could of course. He was fast asleep, she was wide awake.

Jack grunted and snuffled in his sleep. She smiled and ran her hand over his chest. His eyelids fluttered open and he took a deep breath as he woke and stretched. He looked at her smiling at him and reached up to stroke her face.

"Come to bed," he said sleepily. Laughter again filled the corridor outside their cabin. He caressed her thigh and looked up at her. "Or are you wide awake?"

Phryne shrugged. "A little."

"A little wide awake? Is that possible?" He yawned. "Do you want to go back out and have a drink or a dance? You may as well, I'm whacked. All those martinis and whiskeys." He grinned at her. "Not to mention all the exercise I've been getting lately."

Phryne chuckled and shook her head. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Jack. I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh well," he said, rolling his eyes and pulling her on top of him. He kissed her and slid his hands down her body. "I guess that means I'm stuck with you. Best we make the most of it then."

* * *

A/N: Ha! To think some of you didn't think I would give them a happy(ish) ending. As a hopeless romantic, how could I not?

I had every intention of providing details about some of the aspects of the story at the end of the relevant chapter, but never quite managed it as many of the chapters were posted late at night. But here goes:

Yarrowee Station is loosely based on Yanga Station, located at the confluence of the Murrumbidgee and Murray rivers. It was once the largest sheep station in the Southern Hemisphere and is now part of Yanga National Park. I travelled there a few years ago and fell in love with it and the surrounding country, the mallee in particular, which I love.

I also wrote about the Aborigines Progressive Association, which was formed in 1925 in New South Wales. The spokesman of the Association in this story, Tom Shanahan, was modelled on the secretary of the Association, Bill Ferguson, who, with others, fought tirelessly for Aboriginal self-determination. The Association was the birth of the Aboriginal land rights movement.

Ferguson and others also fought to get the now infamous Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls closed down. It's an unfortunate fact that Aboriginal girls were taken from their families in a program of forced assimilation. Those girls and others, known as the 'stolen generation' suffered immeasurable physical and emotional abuse at this home and others like it. The Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls was finally closed in 1968. It is now heritage listed and preserved as a place of healing for the women who survived it.


End file.
